Bridges Between Life and Death
by darksupernatural
Summary: Sam and Dean stop for dinner and their world gets turned upside down. The brothers are separated, what lengths will Dean go to to get back to Sam? Rated T for violence of the human kind. Not death fic. Promise. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, here's the fic I have been working on for a while now. It's been a little hard to write at times but I hope that makes it worth it. No supernatural baddie in this one people. Just crazy, evil people. I'm also still writing this one, the plot bunny on a leash has turned into a Were-rabbit and is dragging me behind it, so updates may or may not come every night like my past stories. Bear with me and I hope that a little waiting makes it more worthwhile. I should mention that to make everyone hate me, this one would be set between seasons two and three just after Dean makes the deal for Sam.  
**

**Have to thank a few people here. As always, my two best friends on the site, Blue Peanut and Sammygirl1963. THANKS SO MUCH FOR BACKING AND ENCOURAGING ME ON THIS. I hope the doc-x-ed sneak peaks don't lose anything when you read the rest of the fic around them. Also to Soncnica, thanks for the messages and the encouragement when it comes to not using a demon for the bad guy here. It's been great to talk to you over the past couple days and I hope to hear from you soon.**

**To everyone else, thanks in advance for reading and taking time to review. It'll get me writing faster if you let me know it's worth it. Enjoy...**

**Bridges Between Life and Death**

**Chapter 1**

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in the parking lot of a nice restaurant. Sam glanced through the windshield to take in the log sided diner with the red roof and green wood shutters. The sign read "Annie's Country Kitchen". Dean shut off the engine and looked in his brother's direction to see the smirk on his face.

"What?" Dean asked, stowing his ever present .45 in the glove compartment next to Sam's Berretta. He looked at the guns again, almost longingly, before closing the lid.

"Isn't this place a little high class for us Dean?"

"I don't know about you Sammy-boy but I could go for some of Annie's home cookin'." Dean got out of the car and walked up to the red door of the diner, Sam hurrying to catch up as his brother disappeared inside. They took a seat at a small table near the back, Sam staring at the gleaming long interior of the restaurant, beautiful scenes hand painted on saw blades and pieces of slate catching his eye as he took in the décor. The smell of chicken wafted from the kitchen at the back of the restaurant and a saloon type door banged open as a waitress wearing jeans and a deep blue and black flannel shirt came through. Her long blond hair was worn in a braid that flopped over her right shoulder.

"Hi Guys. I'm Jenny, I'll be your waitress. What can I get ya to drink?"

"What's good, Jenny?" Dean asked, smiling at the waitress.

"Our house iced tea is perfect. It's sweet and cold."

"Sounds good to us." Dean said.

"Great," She made a note on her order book, "you guys need some time to pick out what you want?"

"Sure. That'd be great."

"I'll bring your drinks."

Dean shifted his eyes to his brother. "That was…nice." Dean said with a smirk and an appraising glance at the jean clad behind that walked though the saloon doors and into the kitchen.

"Don't be an ass Dean."

"I'm not an ass. That was an _ass. A nice ass._"

"Ass." Sam said, grinning at his brother. "Are you gonna drool on the menu or actually read it?"

"Bitch." Dean said, casting his eyes to the green bordered menu before him.

"Jerk." Sam said, grinning again at his brother before lowering his eyes to his own menu. Jenny came back with a pitcher of tea and sat it and two glasses full of ice down in front of the brothers. They smiled their thanks and she pulled her notebook again.

"Have you guys decided what you want?"

"I'll have the roast chicken and a salad." Sam said.

"I'll have the house steak and mashed potatoes."

"How do you want the steak?"

"Medium rare. Gravy on the potatoes please."

"Sure thing. It'll be just a little bit."

The food arrived fifteen minutes later and the guys dug in with gusto. Sam and Dean talked good naturedly while they ate, soon polishing off every bit of food and the full pitcher of tea between them. Jenny came back out of the kitchen and collected the plates when they finished eating.

"Anything else guys? Dessert?"

Dean perked up at the mention of that. "What do you have?"

Jenny giggled at his enthusiasm. "Seven kinds of pie and homemade ice cream." She flipped his menu over after pulling it out of the holder at the side of the table.

"Peach pie and vanilla please." Dean said as he looked over the selection.

Sam took the menu and looked for a moment. "I'll have the Dutch apple and vanilla ice cream."

"Okay guys. I'll bring it out in just a minute." She walked off.

"What's better than a home cooked meal, pie _and _ice cream and a hot waitress at that?"

"You keeping your excitement contained?" Sam deadpanned with a grin on his face.

Dean's eyes lit up as he watched the pie and the waitress come back through the doors. Sam shook his head and laughed at the carnivorous look on his big brother's face, wondering if it was for the pie or the waitress. They enjoyed the pie as much as the meal, not noticing when three rough looking guys came through the door of the diner and took the booth near by. They looked at each other silently and glared at another waitress as she walked to the table. She quickly walked away. Dean and Sam stood, Sam putting a generous tip on the table. They walked the length of the diner to the cash register. Dean looked hard at the three men who sat in the booth. Something set his alarm bells to ringing loudly in his head.

He looked at his brother, sharing the knowledge that something was off with these guys without saying a word. He turned to Jenny who had come up to the register and began ringing them up. She had a pinched look about her face and was pale. "Jenny, what?"

She just glanced between the boys to look at the men, quickly dropping her gaze when one of them looked up. "Total's thirteen seventy-four." Jenny said softly with mock cheer. Dean handed her a twenty dollar bill. She handed him change for the twenty and whispered "_I think something bad is going to happen. Please go, guys._"

"Too late for that." A menacing voice growled from behind Dean as the three men stood and advanced on them. One of them pulled a Glock from his jacket pocket and another pulled a wicked looking bowie knife. "Give us all the money. NOW!" The one who spoke barked out. Jenny jumped. One of the men circled the counter and hurriedly smashed the lock on a metal drawer, pulling out and stuffing large amounts of money into a bag he'd taken from his jacket pocket. His gloved hands left no prints.

"Whoa, whoa. Why don't we talk about this for a minute?" Dean said calmly as he turned slowly to face the large man. The guy stood as tall as Sam and was twice as broad, heavily muscled arms straining the denim of the jacket he wore.

"Shut up." Denim said as he brought the butt of his gun up and moved to pistol whip Dean. Dean blocked and propelled a fist into the guy's gut. The man picked Dean up by the shoulders and threw him into the tables behind. Sam moved then, catching the big man with an uppercut as he heard Dean grunt from the impact with the red Formica table. Sam's hand stung. The other armed man took the knife to Sam and swung it. It caught him high in the chest, a slashing wound that sliced his shirt and drew a cry from him.

"Sam!" Dean cried out, lurching to his feet, blood caking the side of his head and running down his neck. He barreled into the man with the knife as he advanced on Sam again. Jenny bolted around the counter and dove for the phone at the back of the diner to call the police. A shot rang out and she dropped, crying out as a bullet entered her chest. "You sonofabitch!" Dean growled as he punched Knife in the jaw and was rewarded with a crunch and a howl before he was flung off. He landed hard on his back several feet away, the man, Knife, jumping to his feet and cleaning out the till before running out the door of the restaurant, the man with the bag already outside. Sam stood and stopped Denim as he tried to move past. Sam was shoved aside hard, his shoulders breaking out the glass in the display case that held all kinds of vintage sixties items. Dean lunged again, coming up against the man with the gun. The man whirled and fired. Dean felt a bullet burn through his torso, pain stopping his fight instantly. The bullet hit high in Dean's left chest. He felt blood pumping furiously as he fell to his knees still gripping the denim jacket. The man shook him off and Dean slumped sideways. Denim snarled and turned the gun on Sam's unconscious body. "No… Please…" Dean said. The gun went off, drowning out Dean's broken pleas. Sam's body jumped with the impact, blood splattering the walls of the display case and the items inside. Blood blossomed on Sam, coming from his nose, the ear Dean could see and the corner of his mouth. Dean watched through a narrowing tunnel of vision as blood ran down the side of Sam's head to stain his already bloody red and gray flannel. Dean's tunnel closed off and he succumbed to the darkness that beckoned. One more shot rang out as the chef that worked for the restaurant came through the saloon doors with a rifle in hand. The denim jacketed man watched as the chef fell to the floor, a neat hole in his forehead. The rifle clattered to the bloody carpet beside him having never been fired. The large man looked once more at the carnage with a sneer on his face before joining his friends in the truck that sped off into the evening.

A white light appeared in the dim diner, making the darkness of impending death retreat. The woman knelt beside the fallen hunter, holding her hands out over his still form. He was on his side on the carpet, a large pool of blood surrounding him. The light that infused the room shrouded the hunter and grew to blinding. The woman moved, standing and pulling the hunter to his feet, his form translucent as it was encompassed by the white. The woman grasped an insubstantial hand and pulled the man away from the carnage behind him, unwilling to allow him to see. As it faded and the interior darkened to the softness of the ambient lighting the woman and hunter faded with the glow. Sirens rang out in the approaching darkness.

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Hazel eyes fluttered open, taking in the haziness of the white room before finally

focusing. As white ceiling tiles came into focus Sam felt a harshness at the back of his throat. He gagged; feeling like his throat was blocked. His hands scrabbled to his chest and he gagged again fighting against the pressure and the choking feeling. He felt someone grab at his hands and he continued to choke, panicked by the rough touch. A voice broke through his panic and he recognized it.

"Sam! Sam, son, you gotta calm down kid. You're on a vent. It's there to help. Sam, calm down. Don't fight it." Sam's eyes screwed shut and he willed himself to calm down. He heard the too familiar _whoosh-click_ of the ventilator and knew that was the start of the air delivery that he desperately needed. He drew on the breath when he felt the expansion of his lungs. His hands went limp, resting in the calloused, warm ones that circled his and rested on his chest. He took several more breaths and finally opened his eyes, trying to bring the person with him into focus. Bobby's face swam into his line of sight and he blinked at the haggard look on his friend's bearded features.

"That's it kid. Just breathe okay? I'm gonna call the doctor, see if we can't finally get you off that thing." Sam nodded minutely and watched as Bobby let go of one of his hands and pressed the call button fastened to the head of the bed. A nurse came through the door and looked at the two hunters, a huge smile brightening her pretty face.

"Oh, it's so good to see you awake, Sam! I'm Jean, your nurse. I'm gonna get your doctor. He'll be thrilled to see those eyes of yours open." She took his vitals quickly and smiled at both Sam and Bobby before leaving the room. A few minutes later a doctor came through the door, a tall man with a fit build and kind brown eyes.

"Sam, it's nice to meet you finally. I'm David Benton, your doctor. I just want to examine you and see if we can't take that tube out, alright?"

Sam nodded a minuscule amount again and flinched as the doctor slid a cold stethoscope under his gown against his chest. It moved to several different locations, finally warming up before the doctor pulled it away. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, just move your head to answer, not too much though. I don't want the irritation in your throat to get worse. Do you have any pain?"

Sam shook his head a little in the negative. Bobby smiled slightly; still keeping a hold on the one hand that gripped his, which he'd moved back to Sam's side.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" Sam's eyes began to move rapidly as the ventilator clicked again. He looked at Bobby, fear making his eyes grow wide as he squeezed his old friend's hand. He cast his eyes back to the doctor and shook his head again._ No._

"Well, it's really to be expected. It should return now that you're able to think back on things. It's normal to be a little confused with this type of injury." The doctor said as he lifted the head of Sam's bed to a more upright position. "Let's take this tube out and get you more comfortable." Sam nodded, relieved to be getting the obstruction taken care of. The doctor reached out and pressed the button on the bed. Seconds later Jean, the pretty nurse, came through the door.

"Jean, would you get Sam here a cup of ice chips?"

"Yes, doctor." She said as she smiled reassuringly at Sam before walking back out of the room.

"Now, when I grip the tube I want you to take a deep breath and hold it. I'm going to count to three and on three I want you to blow as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?"

Sam nodded. The doctor gripped the end of the tube after disconnecting it from the ventilator. Sam drew a deep breath of the room air through the tube, making a whistling sound and held it. "Okay, one…two…three." The doctor pulled as Sam blew and the tube slid out with a wet, sucking sound leaving Sam coughing violently. Tears leaked from his tightly clenched eyes and Bobby stepped close, rubbing his back as he sat up and hunched in on himself. The coughing subsided, leaving Sam exhausted as he fell back to the bed against Bobby's hand.

"Easy Sam. Just take it easy kid." Bobby soothed as Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Jean returned with some ice chips and handed the cup to Bobby who nudged Sam to open his eyes before spoon feeding him a couple slivers of the ice. He let it dissolve slowly and wet his mouth before he swallowed and felt it soothe his throat.

"Bobby…" Sam croaked out, his throat so raw it felt like it was bleeding.

"Don't you try to talk right now." Bobby admonished sternly, holding two more little discs of ice in the spoon up to Sam's lips. Sam nodded and took the offering, allowing the ice to dissolve. He felt his eyes growing heavy and tried to fight it, to stay awake. His friend saw the fight happening and put the cup of ice down on the bedside tray. "You need rest Sam. Don' fight it. I'll be here." Bobby smoothed back Sam's hair, grimacing as his hand contacted the raised scar from the surgery that Sam had had on his head. He waited for Sam's cry of pain and his heart wrenched when it didn't come.

Instead Sam nodded and his eyes slipped closed on a heavy lidded blink. They stayed that way.

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Dean groaned; the pain in his chest cresting as he drew a deep breath. He rubbed at it and felt the soft material of his shirt. He wore a flannel of rich tones of brown and gray that his brother had bought for him to replace one of many that had been trashed over the course of the endless hunts they had been on in the past couple months. Awareness slowly filtered in to Dean's mind as he took the cool, crisp air deep into his lungs on another breath. He groaned again and then relaxed as the pain faded. Green eyes popped open to see a blue sky about him through tall pine trees. Wisps of white clouds drifted in the blue and Dean remembered a time when he had laid in a park on the manicured grass, a snoozing four year old Sam curled into his side as they soaked up the early June sun. "Sammy, wake up." Dean sat up, feeling lethargic, and glanced around. Dean took in the surroundings, a meadow, surrounded by tall stately pines, maples with golden edged light green leaves and singing birds. The sun was warm on his shoulders and a sense of peace invaded him. Dean stood and turned, expecting to see his brother lounging nearby. Dean faltered when he spun a circle and didn't see Sam. He took a couple steps and scanned again. "Sammy!" Dean listened for a response for a second before worry darkened his green eyes. He began to pace through the forest. Dean took several paces and cupped his hands to his mouth. "SAMMY!" He began to run, panic over not being able to find his brother taking over. "What the hell is going on here?"

He had been wandering for a while through the forest he thought when he came upon the bridge. It was long, made of steel and black. It spanned a gorge of sorts and as he walked upon it, his booted feet clanking on the steel he felt a pressure on his chest. It intensified as he neared the center and finally he had to stop, catching his breath in gasping pants as the force suddenly released him. He leaned against the rail of the bridge, a steel girder that ran the length of the bridge in twenty foot spans about waist high. As he looked over the rail into the depths of the gorge, which seemed to disappear into a swirling fog, he wondered how he'd wound up where he was. The last thing he remembered was… well…

"Damnit, why can't I remember?"

"Because you're not meant to yet." A voice sounded out close to him, bringing him out of his reverie. He turned to find a woman standing several feet away from him on the bridge, her white dress clinging to her olive skinned curves. He looked her over, taking in her high cheekbones, dark, straight hair and odd colored eyes. Dean frowned at her.

"And just why not? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Maris. I'm here to help you Dean."

"Who says I need your help?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"Well…no."

"Then I'm here to tell you."

"Listen, Maris… I'm not sure I want the kind of help that just appears outta thin air. Kinda creepy."

"Fair enough. I'll see you when you decide you want to get back to your brother." She turned and walked towards the end of the bridge, leaving Dean staring after her as she suddenly was standing on the end of the bridge, a fog swirling around her ankles.

"Whoa! Wait." Dean stepped towards her, more towards the center of the bridge. He felt the pressure building on his chest again, suffocating him. It stopped him before he reached the center of the bridge. She looked over her shoulder before turning away again. "Please!" he shouted. Maris turned back to see him standing with his hand out like he was reaching for her. He stepped forward, his other hand rubbing his chest absently. "Please." He said quietly. His eyes fell for a split second and when he glanced up she was by his side again, her tiny hand over his on his chest, the pressure there was gone.

"What happened to me? How did I get…" he gestured to their surroundings, "here?"

"I don't know what happened to you Dean. I've only know that you have a purpose. I'm here to help you find out what that is."

"A purpose? Look lady, I don't know what kind of acid you're on but the only purpose I have is…"

"Your brother? You're more than just your brother Dean."

"No I'm not. Sammy is my life."

"And you sold your soul for him. It wasn't yours to sell Dean."

"Yeah? Then how did I get him back? That was the deal, my soul for his life and he came back to me."

"You both have a higher purpose Dean. You and Sam, you're meant to save a lot of people. You already have saved so many."

"I don't get you. Why am I even here, wherever the hell here is? Where's my brother? Why can't I remember anything?"

"Come with me. I have a lot to show you." Maris took Dean's hand in her tiny one and turned him around to the direction he'd come from. She moved forward and Dean fell in just behind her, watching her with an air of mistrust, his mind working over time.

**A/N: Okay, first chapter down, two brothers down. Is that a start or what? Let me know if this is worth finishing. I'll answer every review and have the next chapter up sometime over the weekend. Love to everyone who hits that beautiful little button!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews and alerts for the start of this story. I really appreciate seeing comments coming from old friends and new names, and lots of alerts. It's so nice to know so many are interested in this. So here it is, a nice long chapter to keep you until I update in the next few days. Still writing the end of this one and like I said before it's running away with me. Enjoy.**

**A/N2: There's some medical stuff here that I never researched and don't even know if it's possible to work like it does for the story so don't try it to see and don't hate me if it's not right. Sam is just the lucky Winchester at the moment. The next chapter will change that though.**

**Chapter 2**

Sam woke sometime later to a dimly lit hospital room. Bobby was asleep in a chair that appeared much more comfortable than other hospital chairs that Sam had either sat in or watched his family sit in. "Bobby?" Sam rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep but stronger. Confused thoughts swirled through his mind and flitted away before he could catch them. Bobby startled awake and bolted from the chair to stand by Sam's bed. He pulled his ball cap off his head and resettled it.

"Hey Kid. How ya feelin'?"

"Head hurts a little." Sam breathed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again.

"Okay. I'll page Jean for ya." Bobby reached for the call button for the second time and pushed it.

"Bobby, what happened to me? Where's Dean? Why are you here and not Dean?"

"Sam… you need to rest. Questions can wait till you're stronger." Bobby said, guilt making him readjust his hat again, lowering it over his eyes to shade them from Sam's probing hazel gaze.

"No. Where is Dean? What happened to us?" Sam asked as Jean walked through the door. The heart monitor connected to Sam began to beep faster. Sam put a hand to his temple and his breathing sped up. "I'm in a hospital. What the hell happened to us Bobby?! WHERE IS MY BROTHER?" Sam pushed the other hand back through his hair and groaned as his head began to pound with his elevated blood pressure. Jean stepped up and gently lowered Sam's hands from his head, taking his pulse.

"Sam, how bad does your head hurt?" She asked, putting her stethoscope in her ears and putting the chest piece in place. "One to ten, Sam, c'mon."

"Uhn…six maybe. Please. I need my brother. Where's Dean?"

Jean shared a look with Bobby and spoke. "I'm going to get your doctor, Sam." She left the room.

"Bobby." Sam struggled to keep his hands away from his head, breathing to keep the pain at bay. "Why can't I remember what happened? Where is my brother?"

"Sam…"

"Bobby, just be straight with me man. I can handle it."

"I think I have to be the judge of that Sam." Doctor Benton said as he walked through the door of the room.

"Please Doc. Where's Dean? Just tell me he's okay."

"Sam, we'll answer all your questions just as soon as we know you can handle those answers." The doc said as he began to examine Sam. The young hunter stared at the doctor, horror washing over his features as the doctor's words sunk in.

"Where. Is. My. Brother? What the _hell _aren't you _telling_ me?"

"Sam, do you know what day it is?" The doctor asked, unfettered by Sam's menace.

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"Sam, just answer the doc's question." Bobby scolded.

"Tuesday."

"Sam, its Friday."

"So I've been out of it for a couple days. Dean's okay and he's at the motel? Once you got here you made him go get some shut eye. Right Bobby? I know he just sits here when I'm hurt and he won't sleep. He won't eat. He needs someone to kick his ass and make him take care of himself. Call him Bobby. I need to see that he's okay. Please? I'll rest once I see Dean."

Bobby pulled the chair close to the edge of the bed. "Kid… I don't know how to tell you this…"

Sam swallowed hard. "Tell me what Bobby?" Sam stared hard at Bobby, paling when he saw the tears in the old hunter's eyes. "Is Dean here?" Sam whispered.

"No kid." Bobby reached out and cupped Sam's cheek tenderly with his calloused hand. "You both were shot, near as we can figure. Robbery gone bad at a little restaurant. All but one of the other employees died. She called for help. Good thing too. We damn near lost you."

"Dean?"

"He's gone kid. He was…he… Aww Damnit Sam. Those bastards shot your brother point blank."

Sam began shaking, his head sliding back and forth against the pillow. Bobby tightened his grip on Sam's jaw as tears flowed down the hunter's cheek to dampen his beard. Sam's eyes flooded. "No." He whispered. "No Bobby. He's not. He can't be… Oh god. N-no. Where is he? I need to see for myself. NO! It's not true! IT'S NOT TRUE IT'S NOT…! Not now, it's too soon. I needed more time." Sam's voice had dropped to a broken whisper. Bobby perched on the bed, the lowered rail digging unnoticed into his thighs as he pulled Sam upright and into his arms, holding the shaking young man tight.

"Bobby, no!"

"I'm so damn sorry Kid. So damn sorry." Bobby said, unable to keep his normally gruff voice from coming out soft and broken. Sam wrapped an arm around Bobby's middle and fisted the back of his vest. Sobs shook Sam for what seemed like hours until he quieted, sagging exhausted into Bobby.

"How long?" Sam asked, his voice barely above a trembling whisper.

"Three weeks kid." Bobby said, smoothing a hand over his warm forehead and through his chestnut waves.

"Did you?"

"Naw. Couldn't bring myself ta… without ya there Sam."

"Then where is he?"

Bobby swallowed hard. "He's in the morgue." The doctor stepped up and cleared his throat, reminding the men of his presence.

"Mr. Singer? I'd like to take Sam for some tests now that he's awake to determine if there's any lasting damage from the bullet fragment."

"What bullet fragment?" Sam asked softly.

"Sam, there's still a piece of lead in your head, son. They can't remove it without doin' more damage."

"I was shot in the head?"

"Yes, Sam." The doctor said. "You were unconscious and it probably stopped the damage from being worse actually. If you had been conscious, your synapses firing, there would have been a short circuit of sorts. You possibly would have had a stroke. I'd like to run some tests but judging by the way you're talking, your ability to control movement and emotion, I'd say you have nothing to worry about."

"Sam, are you okay with doc Benton runnin' some tests?"

"Yeah." Sam answered quietly, pain still making him see black around the edges of his friend.

"I'm gonna go get some lunch Sam. I'll see you in a little bit alright?"

"Yeah." Sam answered automatically.

Bobby glanced long and hard at his young friend, the heartbroken boy he considered a son, before turning and walking from the room.

"Don't worry Sam. I'll make sure you're comfortable for the tests and I'll give you the results before we bring you back up here." The doctor left and a few minutes later Jean and an orderly came in. Jean prepped Sam to take him for tests, and they wheeled him down the hall.

Sam sat through the tests and soon the doc came back into the room with a chart in his hand. The doctor smiled at Sam and pulled a chair close. "Well, Sam, It looks good. The bullet fragment is in a relatively harmless position and it's lodged tight so there shouldn't be any danger of it shifting. Your reflexes and speech are all good along with the finer motor skills. Other than headaches which should fade in frequency and degree of pain over the course of the healing along with maybe some dizziness or nausea, you show all the signs of being able to function one hundred percent normally. I do want you to watch getting hit about the head. I've seen evidence of past traumas and I don't want to risk something jarring that fragment. I also want you to have regular tetanus boosters to prevent infection. Any questions?"

"If the bullet is in a harmless position how come it can't be removed?"

"The surrounding brain tissues are vital to motor skills down to respiration and nervous system functions. We can't go through those to retrieve the fragment."

"Why can't you follow the bullet's path?"

"It traveled through the part of your brain that controls memory. If we operate on that it could take you back to having to learn basic skills again. In other words you'd be at the learned skills level of an infant. I'm sorry Sam. I just don't believe it's worth the risk to remove the fragment if there's no serious threat to your life."

"Thanks for that doc."

"We'll get you settled back into your room. I'm sure your uncle will be thrilled at the news."

"Yeah." Sam cut his hazel eyes to the window to see the sun shining way too brightly for his morose feelings. His mind began working overtime.

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Maris had led Dean back to the edge of the bridge he'd stumbled across in his flight to find his brother. He was thrumming with the need to have some questions answered. Maris though didn't say a word. She just led him by the hand into the forest where he'd first found himself. In the meadow where Dean had first woken up alone, Maris stopped and turned to face Dean. She stared at him, her odd violet colored eyes searching his face. She stepped closer to him and took his other hand in hers. Dean watched her curiously and then a change in the surroundings claimed his attention. They were now standing in the middle of a pale blue and green checked blanket. Maris sat and pulled him down with her. She smoothed her white dress down over her legs, which were folded to her left.

"Consider your questions carefully Dean. You're not ready for all the answers you seek." She cautioned him.

"Where's my brother?"

"Not here."

"Oh come on lady, could you be any more evasive?"

"I told you to ask carefully Dean."

"What happened to me?"

"You asked." Maris' hand shot out and clasped Dean's forehead. It wasn't a gentle touch and Dean was immediately assaulted by pictures in his head. His chest tightened as he succumbed to the pain exploding inside him. His vision went white.

_Sam took a hard hit to the side and toppled, the sound of glass breaking drowning out his groan. Sam lay still, blood soaking his flannel from the earlier slash to the chest he'd taken. His body jumped as blood erupted from the side of his head when a gun shot rang out. _

"NOOO! SAMMY!" Dean screamed out, wrenching free of Maris' grasp to fall back on the blanket, breathing heavily, his face streaked with tears. The tight feeling in his chest diminished. He crab crawled away from the woman with the odd eyes as she advanced on him again. "No, you lie. Whatever you made me see it's not real! You bitch, why? Why did you make me see that?!"

"Because you asked what happened. I can't show you what happened to you yet. It's not the right time. That's what happened to Sam though."

"His head. They killed my brother."

"He's not dead, Dean."

"Wh-what?" Dean whispered, not believing what she said.

"I can show you." This time she held out a hand. Dean's need to see his brother alive over ruled his fear of the odd woman. He reached for her. His vision went white.

"_There you are Sam. All settled again. Do you need anything?" A pretty young nurse asked the silent man in the bed. He pushed himself upright in the bed and rubbed his temple slightly. Then he cast his hazel eyes to the window and shook his head mutely. The nurse lost her pretty smile and left the room after touching Sam's shoulder comfortingly._

Dean's eyes cleared and he faced Maris. "What happened to him? He looks so…"

"He was hurt badly. Now he's alone. He's wondering what to do next."

"The bullet… did it do… damage?"

"Not as much as it did to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean, where do you think you are?"

"Am I dead?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"In a manner of speaking?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You can go back, but you have much to learn first. I can teach you if you can get over your fear."

Dean grit his teeth and advanced on her. "Teach me now. I need to go back to m' brother."

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Sam stood from the bed as soon as the door closed behind Jean. His legs were shaky and he felt weak. As he braced himself against the bed to keep from toppling to the tile floor the final bits of his plan slid into place in his head. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself against the weakness that plagued him after three weeks of being motionless, comatose, he made his legs move and carry his body away from his bed and to the wardrobe in the corner of the private room. Opening the doors on the white cabinet he looked inside pleased to find an outfit hanging on the few hangers there and a pair of socks tucked into the sneakers on the bottom of the wardrobe. His leather wallet was tucked deeply into the other sneaker. "Thank you Bobby." He pulled the shirts and jeans off the hanger and dressed as quickly as his shaky body would allow. Sitting in the chair next to the wardrobe, he pulled the socks and sneakers on and took a deep breath. Standing, he moved to the door of the room. Finding the hall clear, he slipped out of the room and disappeared. He made his way to where he needed to be, taking the elevator to the bottom floor of the hospital.

He stepped from the elevator as the doors opened and followed the brightly lit, artificially cheerful hall to a door he didn't really want to face. The sign assaulted his eyes and he swallowed hard, a tear coursing down his face. He dashed it away and pushed open the door labeled MORGUE.

Formaldehyde bombarded his senses immediately and made him nauseous, his head swimming. He reached for the door frame and steadied himself before shoving forward. Walking towards the main desk, he found it manned by a wiry man reading a magazine. The man didn't even acknowledge his presence. His name tag read "Michael."

Sam's mind put together the final steps of his plan and he ducked back out the door without a sound. The desk attendant turned the page in his magazine.

Sam stood outside the office for a moment and put himself into the part he wanted to play. He went back through the door after taking a deep breath. "Excuse me?"

The man, Michael, looked up from the magazine on the desk with an air of boredom about him. "Yes?"

"I've been a patient here and just woke from a coma to be told my brother died." Sam stopped, his voice breaking on a choked sob without trying. "I'd like to see him…. Please."

"ID please?"

Sam pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, racking his fuzzy memories for the last alias that he and Dean had been using. Opening his wallet he came upon an ID he hadn't seen in years. It had a current picture of him on it. Samuel Singer. _Thanks again Bobby._ "My brother's name is…was…Dean Singer. Please…" Sam trailed off, not having to force the shaky voice or the tear that trailed down his face.

The attendant checked the log that was on his desk. "Dean Singer. Yeah, here." The man stood and pulled keys from his pocket, moving to a large stainless steel drawer along the wall of similar drawers. He unlocked the one labeled 13. _That figures. Dean always thought that was his number._ He pulled the drawer out to reveal a sheet shrouded corpse. Sam swallowed down bile at the smell of formaldehyde and the dread of seeing his brother's face as the sheet was pulled back. His eyes closed and he wavered on his feet as his head gave a sharp throb. He opened his eyes to see the attendant reaching for the sheet. Sam took a deep breath and stifled a gag, forcing his body to stop shaking. "Are you okay?" the man asked him.

"Not really." Sam muttered. He nodded his head and the man pulled the sheet down, folding it to rest on the bare torso of Sam's brother. "Oh God." Sam cried out, his legs going out from under him as a bullet wound in Dean's chest became visible. The man turned quickly and grabbed Sam, lowering him into a nearby chair. Sam shook, tears falling from his eyes uncontrollably. "Dean." The attendant lowered Sam's head between his knees and spoke.

"I'm going to go get someone for you. You're a patient here, you shouldn't be alone."

"No, it's okay. I could use some water though. If you don't mind. Maybe you could give me just a minute alone with m' brother?"

"Sure. I'll get you a bottle of water from the vending machine down the hall. It's better than the fountain. I'll knock before I come back in okay?"

"Thank you." The man left Sam sitting in the chair. As soon as the door closed behind him Sam bolted upright, ignoring the stab of pain, and moved to his brother lying so still on the steel table. "Oh god. Dean. I'm so sorry. So damn sorry. I'm gonna get you out of here. You shouldn't have had to wait for me." Sam wrapped the sheet tight about Dean's form and hefted his brother, moving him off the drawer table to one of the stationary exam tables. Sam was still shaking as he closed the drawer and locked it. He quickly picked Dean up and cradling him to his chest, he made for the exit of the morgue. Seeing the hall clear he hurried for the stairs and the fire exit, shifting Dean so that he could pull the wires that tripped the alarm. He opened the door, pleased when the alarm remained silent, and made his way into the back lot of the hospital. He walked a block before coming across a car, a rusty four door sedan that had tags on it and was unlocked. He laid Dean in the back, gently lowering him to the musty smelling bench seat and moved to the front. Hotwiring the car in seconds, he pulled out into the evening, steeling himself against his fleeing adrenaline rush and the weakness that swamped him as he sat on the front bench..

The morgue attendant was getting the bottle out of the vending machine when someone grabbed him from behind. They spun him to slam him into the vending machine and he found himself staring in shock at a pair of sharp eyes set under a dirty baseball cap. "Don't you tell me you fell for that boy asking for water?!"

"W-what?" The shocked attendant stammered.

"Damnit!" Bobby said as he rolled his eyes and made off for the door of the morgue at a lope. They banged through the door. "Open the locker Dean Singer was in."

The frazzled man quickly opened number thirteen and pulled out the drawer. It was empty. Not even a sheet. He gasped and moved to the phone. "I'm calling security."

Bobby gripped him by the collar and spun him again. "You do that and you're gonna have bigger problems than a grievin' boy takin his brother's body to handle funeral arrangements the way he sees fit. Get me?"

"Uh… uh-y-yeah. G-got it." The phone went back into its cradle.

"Dean's things. Sam get 'em?"

"No." the attendant said as he moved to a safe and quickly opened it, pulling out a clear plastic bag labeled "Dean Singer." He handed it wordlessly to Bobby.

"Now, you just remember what we talked about." Bobby admonished and taking in the morgue attendant's furious nod, Bobby left to track down a sick, grieving boy that was going God-knows-where with his brother's corpse in tow.

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Dean sat quietly with his eyes closed, his body portraying none of the turmoil circulating through him. His mind, however, refused to quiet as his body had. His eyes popped open, his coiled agitation breaking free.

"DAMNIT!" He growled, standing from the blanket that had appeared out of thin air and turning his back on the odd woman who sat in front of him.

"Dean." Maris said calmly. "I can't help you if you don't want to…"

"What are you even trying to help me with? Because I sure as hell don't see you doin' a whole hell of a lot here lady!"

Maris reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder. Pain exploded in his head and chest as he fell to his knees in front of her. He gasped at the intrusion of memories as he watched the scenes he'd watched before. Sam's body, jumping with the impact of a bullet. Blood. The men that hurt his brother. Hurt him.

"AAANNNNNNOOOOOO!" Dean cried out as he felt the pain worsen in his chest, as he felt the burn of a bullet all over again. He saw his attacker standing over him as he fell to his knees. He saw his brother, unmoving, blood coursing down the side of his head. He saw blackness descending. He was helpless to fight it. Maris held him close and cried silently. Dean stirred in her arms, pain flickering across his features, before he stilled again. She ran her small hand through the brush of his golden brown spikes.

"I'm sorry I had to show you that. It's the only way I can get through to you before it's too late to go back. And you need to go back." Maris closed her eyes and focused on her surroundings. Their forms faded as she held Dean tighter. She opened her eyes to find herself with Dean in her arms in the center of the black bridge. Dean's eyes fluttered open and he moaned, pushing away from her as he realized what she'd made him see.

"Why?"

"So you know why you need to go back. So you know that you need to go to your brother only after you make things right. The waking world needs you, Dean Winchester. Sam needs you. Go now, but only find Sam after you make things right Dean." Maris stood and looked off into the distance, her long dark hair fluttering in the breeze that sprang up, quickly turning into a near deafening howl. Dean looked over the rail of the bridge so see the bottom of the ravine below be swallowed up by a churning mist that turned gray and then black. Dean stared as he saw a face captured in the mist. Sam's face appeared, tears in his eyes even as the reflection of flames danced there.

"S-Sammy." Dean said, choking up at the worn out, crushed appearance of his brother. Dean turned to Maris. "He needs me. I have to go back to him."

"Your only chance to get justice rests in Sam not knowing you're back, Dean. Remember that."

"I just need to make sure he's safe. He won't… he won't see me until the time is right. I promise." Dean climbed up onto the couple inch wide rail and stepped off without hesitation, falling. He was swallowed by the swirling mist. Lightening cracked and rippled over the surface of the swirling void before it vanished, the bottom of the ravine and the river so far below becoming a part of the pristine landscape again as the sun shone on Maris' face.

"I hope for the world's sake you keep your promises Dean Winchester."

**A/N: So just who is Maris and how can she do what she does? Any ideas?(Had some great people thinking she's an angel...Nope.) Drop me a line and let me know what you think about the chapter and Maris. Her part isn't finished in this story yet. I'll try to update in the next couple days since I'm off work. Love ya all.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone for the alerts and reviews. I posted a chapter yesterday when the alerts were down so go back one and read it first before checking this one out if you haven't already. MAJOR TISSUE ALERT HERE, just ask Blue Peanut M&M. Thanks so much for reading and I know this story has a lot of unanswered questions yet. I'm working on resolving them as we speak. That's a work in progress for ya. Hope you like this chapter and it's not too hard to read. For those of you who are Dean lovers, he's back in action. Told ya it wasn't a death fic. Please review!  
**

**Chapter 3**

Sam pulled the car over along the dust track shutting off the engine that continued to rumble after the key was removed. He had no idea why he'd ended up here, having driven for hours in silence with his brother's corpse in the back seat. Dean looked like he was sleeping, the blood having been long washed from his cold body. Sam sat, looking at his brother in the rearview mirror for several minutes, willing breath back into his body. There was nothing. Sam sighed heavily, his head pounding with that rhythm that was slowly becoming familiar to him. He pushed his weary, shaking body out of the rusted sedan that had started to smoke several miles back along the road. Slamming the driver's door he opened the passenger door and leaned in, running soft shaking hands over his big brother's hair. He had stopped several towns back at a Sears and had bought his brother some clothing. Nothing fancy, just his customary black shirt, jeans and a green button down shirt that was a couple shades darker than Dean's eyes. Sam decided to forgo boots. He dressed his brother and moved the sheet so that he could shroud him with it later. "Just wait here Dean. I have something I need to do. You'll be safer here than with me in the desert." Sam carefully locked the doors of the sedan and put the key in his pocket. He made his way into the desert, following familiar landmarks. He was soon where he needed to be. He'd been here before. Nearly two years before. He remembered the little oasis. The copse of stunted desert trees clustered around an outcropping of rock in the middle of a valley of sand that stretched as far as he could see. The moon shown down brightly, the chilly night air bringing out the creatures and flowers that had sought shelter when the sun reigned in the sky. Sam walked to the copse of trees and began pulling dead branches from the ground, from the trees themselves, his mind hearing the screams in tune with the beating pulse there. He swayed from the exertion of ripping branches from trunks and soon found himself sweating even in the night air.

He shed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. Soon he had an armload of dead branches and dry sage brush as he made his way slowly to a familiar spot in the desert near the trees. A ring of rock had deliberately been laid here, the oval nearly eight feet in diameter and made out of pristine white rock. It had been Dean's idea to do, the night they watched another fire burn on the same spot. Another tear coursed down Sam's cheek at the thought of another fire burning tonight. He dropped the brush in the center of the circle and began arranging it to create a platform. He made several trips to the trees, each one taking a little longer as his strength ebbed away. Soon the platform, the Pyre, was ready. Sam ripped a piece of material from his shirt and picked up the last stout stick he'd set aside. He wrapped the material tightly around the top of the stick and tucked the loose ends in to form a torch. Sticking the wooden end deep into the sand he made his way back to the car, sad that Dean couldn't have had one last ride in the Impala. Sam didn't even know where the car was. Knowing Bobby though, the car was safe and waiting on Sam to claim it. Sam never would, but he thanked Bobby silently anyway for taking care of the only true home Sam had ever known. Sam went back to the car and used the key from his pocket to open the trunk, seeing what he had at his disposal to finish the job he'd started.

The car wasn't the Impala, Sam remembered, when he saw nothing in the trunk that was usable besides an empty oil bottle and a tire iron. He pulled those two items out and looked again. There in the corner was an open bag of rock salt, of all things. Sam laughed bitterly, the sound echoing maddeningly both in his head and across the desert sands. Sam pulled the rock salt from the trunk and slammed the lid. Dropping to his knees at the back of the car Sam took the tire iron in his hands and put the end of it behind the rusted lines of the gas tank. Sam gave a pull and one of them split, spraying gas all over the desert. He reached under and captured the spray in the oil bottle, quickly gaining a full quart of gasoline. It would be enough. Sam pulled away, sitting up and gagging as the fumes and the change in altitude played with his senses and heightened the pain in his head.

He forced himself to his feet and staggered a little before unlocking the driver's door again. He reached in and opened the glove box, rooting around for something. Another bitter smile crossed his face as his hand fisted a blue Bic lighter. The car was giving him all the means necessary to carry out the worst thing he'd ever had to do in his life. He turned his attention skyward, the twinkling stars seeming to mock him with their cheerfulness. "You really know how to screw a guy over don'cha?" Sam cried to the heavens even as he pocketed the lighter. "Y'know I used to want to believe in something out there, on our side in this, so bad; so bad I ached with wantin' to believe. All I had though to believe in was my brother. Dean. Now you take him from me too? I know there's nothing out there now. I know there's nothing to believe in. So you know what? I give up. You beat me. YOU HEAR ME?! I. GIVE. UP! But I'm not going out without a bang you sonofabitch, you hear me? You'll see." Sam moved to the back door of the sedan and opened the door. He reached in and pulled his brother into his arms, the smell of the still dripping gasoline filling the interior of the car through a hole that was rusted in the floorboards. Sam now saw the rust stained blue carpet on the floor. Sam stepped back and shifted Dean into a fireman's carry so he had one hand free. He gathered up the bottle of gasoline and the salt and slowly made his way the hundred yards to the pyre he'd made, slowly trickling gasoline onto the sand to his left, creating a steady, easy to follow trail of wet sand. He still had a quarter of the gasoline left in the bottle when he reached the pyre. He set the bottle down and pocketed the lighter, gingerly shifting Dean again so that he lay cradled against his chest, Dean's head on his shoulder. Sam laid Dean gently down on the bed of brush and touched his cold cheek as tears flooded Sam's eyes to roll down his own. Sam took the remaining gasoline and dumped it around Dean's body onto the dry brush, refusing to put it on Dean himself. He reached a hand into the bag of rock salt and pulled out a fist full. This he did sprinkle over his brother's body. The coarse crystals of salt mocked him like the stars in the light of the moon.

"We're going out with a bang big brother. Jus' like you always wanted." Sam pulled the lighter from his pocket and lit the torch that was stuck in the sand. Then he turned and spotted the trail of wet sand gleaming in the moonlight. Crouching down, he lit the flame again and watched it for a second, the light reflecting in his hazel eyes. He touched it to the sand and it ignited, the flames zipping towards the car in a fury. Sam stood and smiled as he heard an explosion that rocked him to the very core of his being, a wave of heat blasting over him with enough force to make him stumble. Debris rained all around him as he moved back to the still burning torch and lifted it from the sand.

"Tol' you, Dea'." Sam dropped to his knees just a couple feet from the pyre where his brother rested. He was exhausted, his head pounding unmercifully. The torch trembled in his hand as he lifted the other to rub at the side of his head, for the first time feeling the lifelessness in the skin there along with raised scars and bumps that he could only figure were screws that held the titanium plate fast to the surrounding bone of his skull. Sam held the torch out to the brush and watched it smolder. Small flames licked at the dry wood but refused to grow. He moved the torch into a spot of brush that had gasoline on it and the fluid lit off, burning brightly. Sam saw the flames through his tears and the beckoning darkness that claimed him as the wind started to blow. He slumped to the sand, his head and shoulders resting on the brush that cradled his brother.

The wind howled and lightening cracked across the clouds that had obscured the taunting moon. A form walked out of the encompassing darkness and stepped up to take in the scene in front of him. Shock registered on the face as he took in his own body, lying on a burning pyre just inches from his too still brother. Dean felt a wrenching sensation quickly turning to pain as the flames licked at the sheet his body was shrouded in. The wind shifted, taking the flames away from the sheet that had burned through but hadn't caught and Dean sat up with a gasp, forcing the sheet off his body. He rolled quickly away from the fire as it continued to consume the sheet and the dry wood. He stood, feeling slightly detached and lost until his green eyes lit on his brother's form lying so still in the sand and on the edge of the burning pyre.

"Sammy." Dean said softly as he dropped to his knees beside the youngest Winchester. He gathered his brother in his arms and treasured the warmth he felt coming off the young man; the feeling of life that radiated out of him. Dean smoothed back Sam's hair, wincing when his hand brushed gently over scars in his hair. He saw how haggard Sam looked with a day's shadow of stubble and the looseness of his clothes from lost weight and muscle. Lines of fatigue and pain marred Sam's face. "Oh Sammy. What the hell have you gone through?" Sam stirred in his arms and Dean stilled, remembering his promise to Maris. "I love ya Sammy, just remember that." As much as it hurt him he laid Sam back in the sand, gently. Squeezing his shoulder, Dean stood and walked off into the darkness as the funeral pyre, now empty, collapsed into a flaming pile of coals and an engine roared along the dirt track. Dean smiled as he recognized the engine. Sam would be safe until he could return to his brother for good.

Bobby stepped on the gas when he turned off onto the rough dirt track, seeing fresh tire tracks in the glow of the headlights. The Impala's suspension protested the rough treatment but it was concern over seeing the red glow of flames in the desert that spurred the older hunter on. Two fires loomed in the distance and Bobby's heart pounded in his chest. He pulled the car up as close to the flames as he dared, since he'd promised Dean once that he'd help Sam take care of his baby, and bolted from the driver's seat. He realized that one of the fires was the remains of a vehicle, now barely recognizable, and the other, smaller fire, was the last remains of a funeral pyre. _Sam did the same thing for Dean that those two did for their daddy. Aw, Damnit Sam. Where are you kid?_ A shadow on the ground in the darkness between the fires caught Bobby's attention and with a start he began running towards it.

"SAM!" Bobby cried out as he got close enough to make out the young hunter, lying on his back in the sand, just a few feet from all that remained of Dean. Bobby slid to his knees in the sand and lifted Sam's head and shoulders, holding him up against his chest as he looked at the young hunter he considered his only remaining family now. Bobby held Sam's head upright as it threatened to loll back over his forearm, before he shifted him to lie against his shoulder. He looked Sam over for injury before tenderly tapping his cheek. "Sam, son. C'mon kid. Need ya ta wake up now."

"Unnhhh." Sam moaned, his brow creasing as he was forced to wake up. His head hurt and he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"That's it son. Wake up for me." Bobby cooed, his normally gruff voice was soft. He glanced from Sam's face to the few glowing coals that remained of the pyre. _God, kid, ya didn't have to do this alone._

Sam stirred again in Bobby's arms and hazel eyes opened on a grimace. Sam's hand went to his head, rubbing at the side before Bobby pulled it away. "Easy kid. You're gonna rub your hair off."

"Bobby?" Sam whispered. His eyes slid closed as his hand turned to grasp the older man's weakly. "'m tired. Head hurts."

"Alright Sam. Think you can walk?"

"Thin' so." Bobby sat Sam up, steadying him as he swayed. Bobby stood and pulled him to his feet, taking the majority of Sam's weight as he settled a long arm around his shoulders. Sam stumbled, his feet dragging in the sand as bleary, pain filled eyes took in the cooling coals of the pyre and memory rushed him. He cried out and pulled away from Bobby, falling to his knees at the edge of the ash. "Oh god! I messed up. Dean, I messed up. I…" Sam's hand went to his head again and he wavered, sliding from his knees to his butt in the sand. "Messed up… De-, can' leave 'im. Don' make me leave…" Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side, Bobby barely catching him before his head hit the sand.

"Sam?" Bobby felt for a pulse, finding it there and steady at least. He breathed a sigh and picked Sam up onto his feet again, taking all of the young man's weight as his feet cut furrows in the sand. Bobby pulled Sam's unresisting body away from the pyre and to the Impala. He sat Sam down at the back tire, leaning him against the cool rubber until he opened the door. He stooped to pick Sam up and grunted as he hefted the heavy body into the back seat, covering him with the blanket that was there. "I'm getting too friggin old for this, kid." Bobby smoothed Sam's hair back away from his closed eyes and shut the door. Sliding behind the wheel, he fired the rumbling engine, hoping the steady hum of the only true home Sam had ever known would bring the boy some peace and let him rest. Bobby angled the rearview mirror so he could see Sam's face and began the two hour drive back to his house. He glanced up to the mirror every once in a while to make sure Sam was resting, looking again when he heard Sam shift on the seat, the leather upholstery creaking in the back seat._ Boy, you're gonna be the death of me._ Bobby watched as Sam pushed the blanket off his shoulders and fisted his hands in the material. He stilled and Bobby shifted his attention back to the road.

He had driven for about an hour when he heard a noise from the backseat. It was a small moan followed by a muffled cough._ Don't you be gettin' sick Sam. You don't need that on top of everything else. _ Bobby thought as he glanced in the mirror again. The sight that greeted him had him slamming on the brakes and pulling to the side of the vacant road.

"Sam!" Bobby was out of the car and leaning into the backseat as the young hunter stirred and coughed again. Bobby pulled him upright, allowing him to take a clear breath. Blood was running from Sam's nose and down over his lips, trickling into his mouth which had opened slightly to compensate for him not being able to breathe through his nose. "SAM, Wake up!" Bobby cried as he held a clean handkerchief to Sam's nose to catch the blood.

"Unnh… Bobby?" Sam questioned; his voice sounding nasal as Bobby's grip forced him to breathe through his mouth while he talked.

"Damnit, your nose is bleedin'. Does your head hurt?"

"No. It's my sinuses. I inhaled gas fumes when I got enough fuel to…." Sam trailed off and fell silent, taking over the grasp of the handkerchief himself. "I can feel the pressure behind my eyes." Sam caught the older hunter scrutinizing him. "I'm okay Bobby."

"Sam, you'd tell me if you didn't feel right, wouldn'cha?"

"You know I would."

"Alright, let's get home then so I can throttle you on my turf for that friggin' bone headed stunt you pulled at the hospital." Bobby said, barely concealing a grin as he ruffled Sam's hair gently but affectionately and slid back into the driver's seat. Sam eased back down, careful to keep his head up so he didn't swallow any more blood and willed his mind to shut down. Soon he fell asleep again, the hum of the Impala doing as much for his nerves as any sedative would.

Dean walked away after watching the Impala, his baby; pull away with his most trusted friend behind her wheel. He knew that Bobby would take care of both Sam and the car until Sam could do it himself. He heard his brother's pleas not to be pulled away, his apologies, Sam saying he'd screwed up. He heard Sam's slurred speech. Tears gathered in Dean's green eyes at his brother's words as they played in his head. "No Sammy. You never messed up. _Never._" Dean said aloud to the desert winds, hoping somehow his words made it to his brother's ears. "I'll find a way to get back to you Sammy. I just have to make things safe for us. Those sonsabitches are still out there." Dean walked through the desert sand, not feeling the chill on his still bare feet, not feeling the small stones as they inflicted cuts. His mind was on everything his brother had been through and what would happen next.

Bobby pulled the Impala to a stop in front of his house, Sam already moving in the back seat. "Ya okay kid?"

"Yeah, Bobby. My legs are a little cramped."

"Alright." Bobby said as he climbed from the car, his own body protesting with the nearly audible squeak of joints. He opened the back door and reached for Sam as he sat up and swung his legs to the floor before swinging them out of the car and onto the dirt driveway. "Let's getcha in the house." Sam stood, Bobby steadied him until he found his feet and Sam made his way slowly into the house. Bobby got the gear out of the trunk and walked in to find his young friend standing in the doorway of the room he shared with his brother when they stayed. Sam was staring at the bed nearest the door with tears in his hazel eyes.

"Sam?" Bobby said quietly, putting Sam's laptop and duffle bag down on the worn kitchen table.

"I… I can't Bobby." Sam turned and walked quickly for the front door.

"Sam, where are you goin'?"

"I need some air." Sam banged through the screen door and into the sunshine that seemed to mock his dark mood by shining warmly on his cold skin. Sam hurried off into the Salvage yard's interior; going someplace he knew he could gather his thoughts. At the back fence of the yard there was a large oak tree, its shaded limbs nearly out in full leaf and waving in the warm spring sunshine. Sam soon made it to the shade under the tree and leaned against the rough bark. Tears choked him and fell unheeded down his face. He slid down the rough bark, his shirt riding up unfelt, until he sat in the natural curve of earth that rested between two roots that protruded from the ground.

"Dean…" Sam sobbed, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head in them. "God, I'm so sorry. How am I supposed to do this man? I'm supposed to what… just go on like you were never here?" Sam laughed bitterly. "Like I could. You're all I had man. I can't… Dean." Sam's voice lost its power, its emotion, and he tucked his head deeper into his knees. "I can't." Sam's eyes were pinched tightly closed when a warm wind began to caress him. On the breeze he heard a voice. His head whipped up and he closed his burning eyes again. _You don't have to Sammy. I'm here._

"Dean." Sam said, looking around with awe on his face.

Dean had made his way to Bobby's, something pulling him in the direction of his brother. He had found a pair of boots and a knee length black leather duster discarded at a Salvation Army drop box. He now wore them, the sun warming him through the dense black material. He watched as his brother bolted from Bobby's house and disappeared into the salvage yard. He knew where Sam would go, where he always went. Dean followed his brother silently. He listened, out of sight of the big oak tree, as his brother lost it. He wanted to comfort Sam but heard Maris' words in his head. Dean would keep his promise to her, if for no other reason than to get justice and protect his brother. Dean still had no idea what had happened to them, how he came back and where he'd come back from but he knew he had something to do. Something that was fast becoming unfinished business for him. Dean whispered comforting words in the gentle breeze, words that he knew would carry to his brother alone, before walking off unseen.

Sam stood from the tree and wiped the tears from his cheeks, facing the breeze to dry his face. He took a deep breath, marveling when he smelled leather and aftershave. Something so characteristically Dean that Sam smiled. "I know you're still here Dean. Somehow. I will find you." Sam turned and walked back to the house. Bobby came out onto the porch as he saw Sam approach.

"Boy, where'd you go?"

"Out to the tree." Sam brushed past Bobby and the older hunter turned and gaped as Sam smiled at him and then sat down at the table in the kitchen, putting his duffle on the floor before booting up the laptop.

"Don'cha think ya should rest Sam?"

"I'm okay."

"What are you lookin' for?"

"A hunt."

"WHAT?!"

"Dean would want me to keep going. Keep up the family business."

"Over my damn dead body Sam!" Bobby growled and slammed the lid of the laptop. Sam snatched his fingers back to keep them from getting pinched in the keyboard. "You just got outta the friggin' hospital. You have a bullet in your head! I'm not lettin' you traipse off on some god forsaken hunt three days after you come out of a friggin' coma! Boy, I would kick the hell outta you if I didn't think it'd knock that piece o' lead loose and kill your crazy ass!"

"Bobby…"

"NO! You listen to me and you listen good, Winchester. You are going to take it easy for a couple weeks. If I have to tie you to a bed you're gonna rest and you're gonna eat if I have to spoon feed you while you're tied down, damnit! Do. You. Get. Me?"

"Yes sir." Sam said automatically.

"Don't do that." Bobby said, losing the fire from his voice. "I just want ya to take care of yourself. Let me take care of ya. Okay? Sam, I lost one of the last people I consider family, just like you. Except I almost lost ya both. I can't do it. I can't watch you be lost too." Bobby trailed off and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out some milk and the makings of sandwiches. He was silent as Sam watched him make two huge ham and cheese sandwiches with lettuce. He sat one down in front of Sam at the table and took the other one out on the back porch, sending the door banging closed behind him. Sam stood, plate in hand, and followed him onto the porch to find him sitting on the top step, chewing thoughtfully and staring at the top of the big oak tree, visible over the piles of junk cars.

"Bobby, I'm sorry." Sam said softly as he sat down on the step next to his old friend. "I didn't mean to be selfish. I just feel so…"

"Lost?" Bobby said after swallowing the bite of sandwich.

Sam breathed a laugh. "I guess you do know how I feel." Bobby turned to him on the step and reached out a hand, smoothing it through Sam's waves before clapping him on the shoulder.

"I do. But you're not lost. I'm around if you need a set of ears."

Sam glanced at his plate, still as of yet untouched. "Thanks Bobby."

"Eat kid." Bobby said as he stood on protesting knees and moved inside.

Sam picked up his sandwich and took a bite, still sitting on the top step and looking out over the closest thing to a home that he could remember next to the Impala. Tears gathered. _I guess she's mine now._ Sam blinked them away and finished his sandwich. _I'll take good care of her Dean. I swear._ Sam stood, a hand on his head and went back inside. Bobby handed him a glass of water and his pain meds without asking if he was hurting. Sam took the pills and drank the water before picking up his duffle and moving off to the room he shared with Dean before. Sam changed his clothes, from jeans and a flannel to a gray t-shirt and sweats and brushed his teeth in the small bathroom. Sam went to his usual bed, the one furthest from the door and lay down.

"Night Bobby." Sam said as he faced the wall away from the empty bed, knowing that Bobby was standing in the doorway.

"Night Sam." Bobby moved off to go to his own room, checking salt lines as he went.

Outside, Dean opened the trunk of his car with the spare key he'd taken from Bobby's hall table while they were outside. He lifted the divider and retrieved one of his favorite possessions. Dean walked off into the night.

**A/N: I know, more unanswered questions. I'm addressing them in future chapters, promise. Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the great reviews and alerts. You people rock! I wanted to give you another chapter before I start a new work week. I'm still writing and it's going well so hopefully updates will still come regularly even with the long workdays coming up for me. Hope you enjoy. Just a little side note, the info the coroner gives Sam (too readily) came from my little brother and his near obsession with sharp objects. Not saying it's accurate, or would even actually work in real life. Forgive mistakes or stupid sounding "Facts". This is fiction after all. For all the hearts I broke with the last couple chapters (yeah, Mish. I mean you) Here's a slightly pissed off Dean in action.**

**Chapter 4**

The moon hung high in the night sky as Dean was walking down the sidewalk. He had holed up until very early morning, actually sleeping for a couple hours for the first time since coming back. It was also the first time he clearly remembered his dreams since the nightmares of losing Sam began without making him want to jam a red hot poker through his ear and into his brain to silence the awful images. It wasn't a nightmare he remembered this time. It was Maris. Her words played in his mind. _"It's time to start your journey, Dean. Go to the town where everything was taken from you. The people who did this to you and your brother live lives there. Their darkness dares to walk in the sunshine. Find them."_

"_How? I can't remember what they look like."_

"_You will. When the time is right, you'll remember."_

Dean snapped himself out of his reverie and continued walking down the sidewalk, coming to the front door of the only bar in town. The doors swung open and a trio of raucous men staggered out drunk.

"Saturday night rejects." Dean muttered, watching the men cackle drunkenly. "They'll probably be red eyed in church tomorrow." He quietly stepped aside and watched the men as they passed by. He heard one of them speak.

"Hey Tom, what are we hittin' tomorrow?"

The big man that the smaller one was talking to turned and punched him in the stomach. "Shut up." he growled.

Dean's blood froze. _Shut up._ Memories swamped Dean and he lurched into the alley next to the bar before falling to his knees and shooting both hands to his head.

_Shut up._ Dean heard the big man growl just before he was knocked into the table.

_Shut up. _He cried out as he felt the heated burn of a bullet.

_Shut up._ Dean saw Sam's unmoving body flinch as a bullet plowed into his head.

_Shut up._

Dean growled and stood, his green eyes hardening to look like emeralds in the moonlight. He slipped from the alley and shadowed the three drunken murderers. They continued to plan their robbery and rib each other as they walked down the side of the road. The smallest of the three soon turned off as they passed a driveway that led to a nice ranch style home. Dean watched from a distance, waiting for the one that he remembered as the man who slashed Sam's chest with the knife to disappear inside his house. The others jeered the man as he was greeted at the door by his angry looking wife. Something in the driveway caught Dean's eye. It was a dark blue four door sedan. Three antennas graced the trunk lid. A fine mesh separated the front seats from the back that Dean saw through the back glass. _A cop. The murderers are cops?! _Dean moved quickly to the shadows as he saw the door open again and the wife come out. She was yelling at the man for being drunk and stupid. The woman hopped in the other car in the drive, a small white Toyota. She pulled out, squealing tires on the pavement. Dean watched as the house darkened room by room and he settled in to wait. Soon the house fell silent, every room dark. Dean made his move.

Dean walked up to the side door, and silently tested the knob. It was unlocked. Dean's eyes glinted as he pushed it open and slipped inside. He closed the door as silently as it opened and he made his way unerringly to the room where he'd seen the last of the lights go off. He walked down the upstairs hall and heard heavy snoring coming from the room with the door ajar several inches. Dean pushed it open and entered the room, lethal in every sense of the word.

Dean strode up to the man, obviously passed out at an odd angle on his back across his bed. One shoe was still on and his white shirt was half unbuttoned. Dean watched the man for a moment and decided what he was going to do. A smile crept over his features. He leaned over the man and smelled the alcohol on the breath coming out of the man's mouth. Dean lowered a hand to the mouth, clamping off the man's nose at the same time. The man snorted and began to fight as bleary, bloodshot eyes opened. Panic crossed the man's features as he tried to free himself from Dean's hard grasp of his jaw. Dean tightened his hold with the one hand and used the other to catch the man's arms, quickly stilling any fight left in the man.

"Shhh shhh. You stop fighting me and I'll let you breathe." Dean whispered in a soothing tone. He was seething inside and wanted to rip the man's head off. The man stilled and nodded furiously. Dean released his hold on the man's nose but kept his hand tight on his mouth. The man sucked in desperate breaths, the blue tint leaving his face.

"Now, you and me, we're gonna talk, nice and friendly like. Get me?" Dean asked, pulling a sharp blade from the sheath at his belt. Something he'd soundlessly snaked from the Impala after checking on his brother. It was his favorite hunting knife, sharp enough to split hairs and a present from Sam for his twentieth birthday. It had a black handle and blackened blade. A wicked curve and serrated edge graced the honed metal, making it an impressive, deadly weapon. He released his hold on the man's mouth but kept the wrists pinned in a bone crushing grasp.

"Why the diner?"

"W-what Diner?"

"You and your buddies shot two guys there. Along with a waitress."

"Th-they was stupid. Sh-shoulda just ran." The man said, still stammering as his wide eyes refused to leave the almost invisible knife.

"I'll ask again. Why. The. Diner?"

"Easy target. Th-they only deposit their money tw-twice a month. They had over twenty thousand in the till. W-we normally escort their sh-shipments to the bank for deposit."

"And you shot the two guys why?"

"Saw our faces. We got too much to lose."

"So you and your cop buddies shot first and never asked questions?"

"What's it matter to you?"

"You and your tough-guy bad cop wannabes hurt someone who means a lot to me." Dean growled low in his throat, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting of the room. Dean's mind flashed back to the last time he saw this man. He heard Sam cry out as a knife flashed and sliced Sam's chest. Anger boiled through Dean's blood like molten lava.

"Wrong place, wrong time." The man smirked, pulling at his hands and then losing the smirk as he felt bones grind together in his wrists. He grimaced.

"I could say the same for you right now." Dean smiled darkly as he vowed this man would never rob anyone, never hurt anyone again. Sam's face, his body jumping on the impact of a bullet, flashed before his eyes as the knife came down and made contact. He watched the life drain from the man's eyes and then controlled his own gasping breath as he backtracked and made sure there was no trace of evidence linking him to the now dead attempted murderer. Dean let himself out of the house and disappeared into the night. He had somewhere he needed to be.

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The sun rose, cutting through the gray of the morning. Dew sparkled and the fresh smell of coffee woke Sam as it drifted into the still darkened room. Sam stood and stretched, his muscles feeling relaxed and weak. He smoothed back his disheveled hair, fingers lingering on the patch of skin that felt numb, like it wasn't his, before dropping to his sweat clad thighs. Sam left the room to get some coffee. Dean emerged silently from the darkest corner of the room and watched his brother's retreating form. "I'm glad you rested kid. I'll see you soon." Dean whispered as he turned to the window, moving soundlessly. Seconds later it was as if he'd never been there.

"Mornin' Bobby." Sam said as he walked into the dilapidated but still functional kitchen where Bobby stood at the stove over a simmering skillet.

"Mornin, Sam. Sleep okay?" Bobby asked as he stirred the peppers and mushrooms for the grilled omelets he was planning on making.

"Yeah. Actually I did. I think I was exhausted."

"You still aren't a hundred percent yet Sam. I want ya to take it easy."

"Breakfast and a shot at the newspaper and I'm just gonna relax. I'm still tired I think."

"You remember anything yet 'bout what happened?"

"No. Last thing that's clear before the robbery is… Dean. He wanted pie."

"That sounds like 'im. Don't worry kid, it'll come back."

"Yeah."

"Take your meds Sam." Bobby gently admonished as he sat a pepper and mushroom omelet down in front of his young friend. Sam opened the pill bottle that sat on the table from last night and took the dosage. He ate, surprised to find himself hungry, and then looked around for the paper.

"Bobby, what happened to your paper?"

"Damn dog of mine kept chewin' it up before I got it. I just use the computer. It's already up if you wanna look." Bobby said as he sat down with his own omelet.

Sam left the kitchen after smiling wanly at his old friend and sat down on the chair at a desk in the corner of the shabby living room. An ancient looking desktop computer sat on the worn top. Sam looked at the keys and grinned, shaking his head as he took in slight grease stains on the most frequently used keys across the keyboard. Sam's eyes lifted to the screen and he felt his heart stop.

"Oh God." Sam whispered, feeling his throat slowly close. He stood from the desk in a rush, knocking the chair backwards with a bang against the scuffed hardwood floor. He fell to his knees, his eyes still locked on the image on the computer. Bobby sprinted into the living room to see Sam on his knees on the floor. He was audibly wheezing, near hyperventilating, his stricken eyes glued to the desktop monitor.

"Sam!" Bobby dropped to his own knees and grasped the young man's shoulders. "SAM! What is it boy?"

"Oh god. What….no, no, no, no." Sam started shaking, pulling further into himself. He collapsed into Bobby's arms as the other man pulled him in tight.

"Shh, shhh. Sam, its okay. It's okay. You're alright kid. Talk to me Sammy." Bobby said, using the childhood nickname for the first time in years, hoping to break through Sam's terror. He felt the youngest-only remaining- Bobby reminded himself as he blinked back the sudden onset of tears- Winchester stiffen in his arms before abruptly sagging. "Sam?" Bobby quickly pushed himself to his feet and keeping the boy he considered his own- the last of his family- held tight, he managed to stumble-step and get Sam to the couch where he laid him down on the worn piece of furniture. Sam moaned slightly and his head tossed. Bobby ran for the bathroom and quickly returned with a damp cloth, bathing Sam's flushed face. Pain lines mottled Sam's brow before foggy hazel eyes opened.

"Noo, I…"

"Shh, shh. It's okay Sam." Bobby soothed, still bathing Sam's flushed face. "What is it Sam?"

"No, it can't be. It can't…" Sam trailed off as he let his hand drift to his temple and he began rubbing absently at his hair. Bobby quickly caught the appendage and lowered it to Sam's chest, holding it comfortingly. "Bobby…"

"Yeah, kid. Talk to me Sammy. It's alright. Nothin's gonna hurt you here. Whatcha see on the computer, kid?"

"One of the-the men that sh-shot me. He's… He's dead. Found stabbed in his bedroom. His wife…uh, she found him when she came back home after they had a f-fight. Cops arrested her. Think she did it." Sam stood from the couch so quickly that Bobby staggered back into the coffee table from the crouch he was in. Papers and books that had been scattered on the table top hit the floor when it was rocked by the older hunter's back. Sam moved past a startled Bobby as the older man stood. Sam had already reached the front door.

"Sam! Where you goin'?" Bobby cried out as he stepped onto the porch after sending the screen door banging into the side of the house. The Impala was already rumbling when Bobby made it down the stairs to be stopped short by squealing tires and flying gravel. "SAAAAAMMMM!" Bobby choked on dust as he watched the Impala pull out onto the main road with a bark and more smoke. Bobby pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Sam's number.

"_This is Sam, leave a message…" _Bobby slammed his phone shut. "Damnit kid, where the hell are you goin'?" Bobby remembered Sam seeing something on the computer that troubled him. The older hunter went inside and checked the machine. Horror streaked through him at what he saw on the screen.

Sam had no idea how he was going to pull this off. All he knew was that something wasn't right. He _had_ to see the body of this man. One of the men who'd hurt him and killed his brother. A man who was a cop, nonetheless. A cop, supposed to be one of the good guys. _No wonder Dean hates them._ A murderer who was murdered. Something about the poetic nature of that had alarm bells ringing loudly in his head.

Sam pulled into the town where he and Dean were attacked, about four hours from Bobby's, not really remembering any of the trip._ Dean would kill me if I'd hurt the Impala._ He sat in the hospital parking lot in the car, clad in torn jeans and a gray t-shirt, having run out of Bobby's without even putting on an over shirt. He wondered how he was going to put up a front good enough to get into the morgue when he felt like he couldn't even walk a straight line right now.

He took a deep breath and opened the driver's door with it's all too familiar squeak., pulling the keys from the ignition. He went to the trunk and opened it. Inside was his duffel bag resting on top of the divider that concealed their hidden cache of weapons. To the left of the duffel lay a garment bag, the heavy vinyl type with a zipper. Sam knew his and Dean's suits rested inside, mostly wrinkle free and ready for their roles. Sam opened the zipper and breathed a sigh as he saw his was on top. He pulled it from the bag without looking back into the trunk before he closed the lid. Sam quickly went in to the hospital and ducked into the first men's room he came to. A quick change of clothes and a couple deep breaths later and Sam was headed for the morgue, intent on playing yet another role that he'd mastered in his life as a hunter.

Sam pushed the door to the morgue open after taking a steadying breath. A woman was bustling around, working with the various equipment and talking seemingly to herself until Sam noticed the microphone hanging over the table where a body rested, only draped to the waist in a sheet.

"Excuse me?" Sam said, clearing his throat and trying not to gag on the smell and sights before him.

The woman jumped just a bit and looked up, reaching one gloved hand up to turn off the microphone. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yes. I'm detective Sam Burton…"

"You working the Michelson Stabbing?"

_This is too easy._ "Yes I am."

"This is him. Just finished up the autopsy."

"And your results?"

"Officer Michelson was stabbed seven times. Very deeply with a curved blade. It was incredibly sharp, the serrated edges I detected the blade having only showed themselves against the bone with the typical jagged tears. The flesh itself was cleanly cut even though the serrated edge was present. The wounds to the upper chest were the ones that killed the man."

"Anything else?" Sam asked, swallowing hard as he came forward to look at the stab wounds that the coroner indicated.

"Yes." The coroner picked up a tiny plastic bag. In it was a chip of what appeared to be black paint or something resembling a flake of dark metal.

"It's a black Teflon coating. Something used in the armed forces to make hand to hand weaponry unresponsive to glare. It's like a camouflage coating used on the blades of the weapons so they wouldn't give away the soldier's position in nighttime combat. I found the chip in between the severed halves of the officer's sternum. The blade went through. Didn't break the bone, it cut the bone." The coroner said deadpan.

"What kind of knife could do that?"

"Well, I haven't nailed down the make of the coating but the knife is a type used by the Special Forces. Navy SEALS for one."

"Have you found anything else?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"There's no way Karen Michelson could have murdered her husband."

"Why do you say that?"

"Karen was in a car accident six months ago. Broke her right arm and back. There is no way she's strong enough to have done this. The force behind it would have had to come from a man, at least two hundred pounds and very athletic."

Sam swallowed hard. "Well, that should just about do it. Thank you for your time." Sam said, smiling as he turned away. He turned to leave the morgue, his mind working overtime. His hand went to his head and rubbed before falling away. HE stepped through the door and ran right into a man who was his height and nearly twice as broad. The man's hands shot up and gripped Sam's upper arms almost painfully as Sam stumbled. "Oh! Sorry." He said as he righted himself. The man continued to grip Sam's arms as another smaller wiry man joined them. The grip tightened, as the big man stared at Sam briefly, to nearly the point of pain causing Sam to wince.

"That's quite alright." The man said in a gruff voice that fit his stature perfectly. Sam finally focused on the big man as the grip was released, noting the police uniform, and then looking straight ahead and just slightly up to take in the man's face. Something nagged Sam about his appearance.

"Do I know you?" Sam asked.

"No, no I don't believe you do." The man said. His wiry partner stared pointedly at Sam before the young hunter shrugged and walked off. Sam's hand went back to his head for a moment before he dropped it to his side again. He hurried away, changed back into his jeans in the bathroom and went to the car, his mind going back to what the coroner said. Sam rushed to the trunk and unlocked the lid, quickly lifting the divider after checking to make sure no one was watching.

Sam dug through the slightly chaotic weapons cache frantically. "Where the hell is it?" He dug around some more and finally came to the spot he last remembered… "No." Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a button.

"Sam? Where the hell are ya boy?! You alright?"

"I'm okay Bobby. Hey, have you taken anything out of the trunk lately? Any weapons?"

"No kid. Why?"

"Something's missing."

"Sammy, get your ass back home and let me take care of ya. You missed your meds." Bobby used the childhood nickname in hopes of getting through to the stubborn young hunter. Through the phone he heard the divider fall back into place in the trunk and heard Sam muttering as he shut the trunk lid.

"Sam, what has you so riled up?"

"It's nothin' Bobby. I'm gonna come back there. It'll take me about two hours." Sam said tiredly.

"Look Sam, I wan'cha to find a pharmacy and get some Ibuprofen. Take it for your head and get your ass back here so ya can rest, ya hear me?"

Sam's hand was rubbing at his head. "Yeah, Bobby."

"Alright. I'll see you in two hours kid."

Sam closed his phone and pulled open the driver's door, sliding behind the wheel. He caught a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror and grimaced. He was slightly pale and had darkening circles under his eyes. Sam's hand went to his head and he slumped in the seat. _Maybe Bobby's right. Maybe I'd better find something for my head._ Sam sighed and started the engine, pulling slowly out onto the road. He never saw the sedan pull out behind him.

**A/N: Uh-oh. Looks like Sammy's in trouble. What do you think? Did everyone like bad ass Dean driven to get revenge on the men that hurt his little brother? Remember to push that little button and let me know! I'll try to have more by the end of the week.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Happy Independence Day to everyone who celebrates or just has fun today. To everyone else Just have a good one. Here's the chapter I promised by end of the week. Hoping it answers a few more questions and gets a few hearts beating. Yes, Sammy is in trouble, Dean makes himself known and there's just a bit of action. Hope you like and you'll let me know.**

**Chapter 5**

Sam drove slowly, pain slowly building in his head. He realized now how important his meds were. His vision began blurring and he contemplated calling Bobby and telling him he was just going to get a motel room. _No, I'll get some Tylenol or something and just wait for it to dull the pain a bit before going home. _ Sam spotted a pharmacy and pulled into the parking lot. The small town that the pharmacy was located in was deserted this time of day, everyone having gone inside for dinner. He shut off the car and went inside, returning a few minutes later with some Extra strength Excedrin and a bottle of Sprite. The counter person had walked into a back room again before Sam was even out of the store.

Sam opened his bottle of soda and took a sip, wetting his dry mouth before opening the box that contained the bottle of pills. He popped the top on the pills and broke the seal, pulling the wad of cotton out of the top. Sam felt strong arms wrap around him from behind. They tightened around his neck and torso, pinning his arms to his sides and cutting of his air completely. The bottle of pills fell to the pavement and scattered as Sam's world went black. As he slumped in the arms that held him in a punishing grip the man turned and quietly addressed the other one that had come up from behind.

"Open the trunk."

"But why not just put 'im on the back bench? He can't get at ya through the mesh."

"Shut up. Open the damn trunk." The gruff man repeated. The smaller one moved and opened the trunk, sending the three antennas waving in the air with a thrumming sound.

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The gray sedan pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse at the edge of town. The big man and his partner got out of the sedan and went to the trunk. Opening the lid they revealed a slowly wakening Sam. He moaned at the change in light and drew a deep breath of fresh air. The big cop lifted Sam from the trunk by his shirt, dragging him out and letting him fall down over the bumper and hit the ground roughly. Sam moaned and coughed. "Why are you doing this?" Sam tried to look up at the men treating him the way they were, trying to see their faces. He was greeted by a shiny black shoe to the face. Sam slumped unconscious, blood leaking from his split lip and a bruise already darkening on his pale cheek. The men hauled Sam's lanky frame upright and dragged him inside. Once there they sat him on a chair, one holding him upright while the other stripped him of his jacket, over shirt and boots and tied him securely.

"Now we wait." The gruff man said.

"For what?"

"To find out how much he remembers. I know I put a bullet in his head. He's probably retarded now and we can just dump him somewhere."

"What if he does remember us?"

"Either way he's dead. It just depends on how much he knows how fast it happens. And whether or not he's ever found." A ringing phone caught Tom's attention. He pulled Sam's cell phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. _Bobby_ flashed on the screen. Tom put the cell phone to the floor as the ringing stopped. His black shoe ground the plastic into the concrete floor, his massive body weight grinding the working components into something resembling coarse dust.

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Bobby was on his fifth circuit of his kitchen, alternating his eyes between the clock and the kitchen window where he could see his drive way. It had been four hours since he'd last talked to Sam. Four hours when he should have been back in two, two and a half if he'd stopped to get some over the counter meds like Bobby had suggested. Bobby dialed his cell phone again, the ringing giving way to voice mail. "Sammy, it's Bobby, I need you to call me kid. Lemme know you're okay." Bobby slammed his phone shut. "Damnit, where the hell are you kid?"

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Dean was sleeping, holed up in an abandoned house out side of Fort Pierre. It was one of the first times in weeks he was totally still. A light appeared to his left as Maris shimmered into being beside him. She dropped to her knees and touched his shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean startled awake. "Maris?"

"Dean, it's time for you to go back to Sam. He needs you. You have to hurry."

"Sammy?" Dean sat upright and looked at Maris. "What's wrong with him?"

"Go to Bobby. You'll find out."

"Lady, I seriously wish you would stop being so damn evasive!"

She smirked. "Sorry Dean, it's in the job description. Go." She faded from his sight. Dean was on his feet and out the door even before he had his duster swung around his shoulders.

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Sam woke slowly, aware first of how badly his head was throbbing. Then came a dim awareness of ropes around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the chair he was in. They had taken off his over shirt and jacket, leaving him in a gray tee and his jeans. His boots were missing. He forced his eyes open, his vision graying out as dizziness swamped him. His chin dropped back to his chest and he tried to breathe through the pain.

"Unnhh." Sam moaned as he tried to raise his head again. Tried and failed. His attempt was bolstered by a rough hand clenched in his hair from behind. His head was pulled up and back and a rough blindfold was tied over his eyes, the fabric having the consistency of canvas. He was completely in the dark.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked, pain streaking through his brain at the feel of the fabric tightly tied around his head.

Sam was rewarded with a punch to the throat. He was left gagging and unable to breathe. "Guh-hhhuh." Sam's wheezing breaths were the only audible sound in the room.

"Let… me go." Sam panted, trying desperately to breathe around a rapidly swelling throat.

"Did you see us?" A gruff voice asked.

Sam's chin dropped as his head lolled on his shoulders. "What?" He stammered, "No. I don't know who…who you are."

"You're lyin'."

"No… Guhh!" Sam choked out a cry just before sliding into unconsciousness as a huge fist collided with the right side of his head. The fists kept coming.

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Bobby went to his living room to try and get some more information from his computer on where Sam had driven to after he'd seen the picture of one of the men that hurt him. Having found what he was looking for, Bremerton Washington, he returned to the kitchen, now shrouded in late afternoon shadows. His hand was pulling the gun from his waistband as a shadow in the corner of the kitchen shifted and a figure stepped out of it.

"Hey Bobby." Dean said, nonchalantly even as the gun came level with his forehead.

"_Christo."_ Bobby menaced, holding the gun rock steady and perfectly level with a freckle between Dean's eyes.

"I'm not possessed Bobby. I'm not dead either."

"Impossible. That boy, he b- he burned you like the two of you did yer Daddy."

"Something… happened, Bobby, but I didn't burn." Dean said as he stepped further from the shadows. Bobby brandished the gun again and backed up a step.

"Stop right there." Bobby growled. Dean took another step and his hands lifted more quickly than Bobby could track with his eyes. One twisted the pistol from his grasp while the other landed on his flannel covered shoulder in a strong grasp. Bobby gasped before looking deep in to Dean's green eyes, seeing something there that allayed all his fears that Dean was a demon. In those depths he saw the combination of the four year old boy he'd first met, the young man who came back from the dead just in time to mourn his father and the broken man who'd felt his brother's life seep out of a stab wound in his back only to give his own in exchange. Dean stared back at his old friend before tightening the hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Bobby. It's me."

Bobby pulled Dean's unresisting form into his arms and held on tight. " Damn, kid! It's so good to see you. I mean, what the hell? I saw your body, the bullet hole…you were on that freakin' slab and cold. My god, you were cold."

"I know what happened and I know who did this to us. Sammy's in trouble. That's why I'm here. Where is he?"

"He's missin'. He should have been back a couple hours ago. Phone goes straight to voice mail."

"We've gotta find him. The other two, they'll figure out that someone's gunnin' for them and they'll hurt him to find out who." Dean said as he bolted for Bobby's truck. Bobby close behind. The older hunter slid behind the wheel and fired the engine. The rusted truck sprung to life, its motor still strong as the tires kicked up gravel until squealing onto the paved road at the end of Bobby's drive. He turned in the direction of Bremerton and floored the gas is if the speed limit didn't apply to him. The road was open and flat. Bobby pulled a hand from the wheel and reached into his vest pocket after undoing the snap. He pulled out a hand full of black cord, bronze made shiny by everyday wear and a gleaming chunk of silver.

"Know it's not the best time boy, but I thought ya might want these back." Bobby said as he held out the precious items to Dean. Dean took them and smiled at his old friend.

"Thanks for keepin' em safe man." Dean said as he slipped his ring back on his hand and tied the amulet back around his neck. His silver clad right hand clasped the bronze ornament tightly, the small horns biting into his palm and bringing the comfort and memories back that only it could. Dean returned his gaze to the windshield and silently begged Sam to hold on.

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Sam lifted his head, pain streaking through his entire body. Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth as he tried to breathe. He felt his head throbbing, his blindfolded eyes stung with tears as dizziness swamped him. Disoriented, he flinched when he heard a door slam. A sinister laugh sounded out next to him and he jumped, groaning at the pain that invaded every pore.

"What's-a-matter? Something got you spooked?" the big man said as he took his police baton from its leather sheath at his waist. Sam flinched again as he heard the sharp smack of the polished wood against the flesh of a meaty hand.

"Please." Sam whispered, blood bubbling on his lips again. "I don't remember anything about knowing you or what happened to make you want to do this to me. I swear it. Please…. Let me go. Just untie me and leave. I'll just call someone to come get me and you'll never see me again. I swear." Sam flinched again as the gruff voice rang out right next to his ear.

"I don't think so." The baton was swung and connected with Sam's head. The audible crack of bone sounded out and blood flew. Sam whimpered once before his chin touched his chest and all was silent.

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The sun had set an hour before and still no Sam. Bobby pulled into Bremerton, Washington and Dean slapped Bobby on the shoulder and pointed off the road to a little pharmacy. The Impala was in the parking lot. Bobby pulled up and Dean was out of the truck before it stopped. "Sammy?" He called out, spinning a tight circle with his eyes panning the parking lot. "SAMMY!" He screamed when he saw that the lights were out in the pharmacy. It was closed. Bobby had gotten out of the truck and circled the Impala.

"Dean, look." Bobby said as he crouched down. On the ground in front of his feet were a spilled bottle of Excedrin and a bottle of Sprite, the lid lying two feet away. Half of the sprite lay in a drying pool under the neck of the bottle.

"Sammy." Dean said, heartbroken that his brother was being hurt because of him. "Maris, help me. I need to find him." Dean cried out, flinging his head back. "MARIS!"

Bobby startled as a glowing light appeared behind Dean in the twilight. A woman in a white dress emerged from the light. "Dean."

Dean spun and faced her, a look of relief on his face. "Maris, he's missing. I need your help to find him."

"Dean, I can't keep interfering. I'm just the bridge keeper."

Dean walked up to her and gripped her arms gently. "Maris, please. He's m'brother."

Maris smiled grimly and reached one hand to Dean's temple. The other shot out and touched the driver's door of the Impala. Sparks flew and Dean went rigid in Maris' grip. He screamed.

"What the hell?!" Bobby cried, reaching instantly for Dean.

"No, you mustn't!" Maris cried, something in her voice stopping Bobby cold.

_Dean walked into a room. It looked like a dusty warehouse. In the dim lighting his eyes fixed on his brother, slumped in the chair he was tied to. Blood coated his face and soaked into his tee shirt. "Sammy!" Dean ran to his brother and crouched at his side. He lifted his brother's bloody, broken face and felt for a pulse. "No! No, Sammy c'mon. Kiddo, don't do this. Please Sammy, breathe for me." Dean shifted his eyes around the room. "HELP ME!" He yelled. "Help me." Dean pulled his knife and cut the ropes binding Sam to the chair, hands and feet. He gently eased his broken baby brother to the bloody cement floor. "Sammy please!" Dean eased the bloody blindfold off his brother's closed, bruised eyes. "Sammy." Dean choked on a sob when he saw no movement to his brother's chest, when he felt Sam's cooling blood coating his hands. "No, Sammy." Dean sobbed, pulling Sam upright and tight against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry. Sammy!" Dean held Sam tight and buried his head in Sam's neck. He took a deep breath, inhaling his brother's scent mixed with the nauseating tang of blood. Throwing back his head as tears ran down his cheeks in a torrent he released the breath on a sob and drew another which he released. "SSAAAAAMMMMM!"_

Dean slid to his knees, out of Maris' grasp. He was panting heavily, tears flowing down his cheeks. Maris looked on sadly as a worried Bobby crouched by his young friend's side. "Dean, ya alright boy?"

"Sam-my." Dean said brokenly, a sob causing his breath to hitch. "Bobby, I saw him. I know he's close. He's… he's hurt bad." Dean's head bowed just a bit and Bobby drew him into his arms briefly before pulling back and lifting Dean's face. Dean's eyes were full of fear, shining with tears and almost painful for Bobby to look at. Dean hauled himself to his feet and moved to the trunk of the Impala. He stared at the lid, realizing he didn't have a way in until Bobby pulled his keys from his pocket and held them out wordlessly. Dean took the key and was soon rummaging through the trunk. He lifted out his Colt and checked the clip before tucking it into his waistband and settling the duster back in place. He closed the trunk and turned around, sitting down on the bumper. He buried his head in his hands.

"What'd ya see Dean?"

"I lost him Bobby. I got to him and he was already gone. I can't… to lose him now, after everything… I just can't." Dean said in a near whisper.

"Come on kid. We gotta find Sam and get 'im back." Bobby helped Dean to his feet and they got in the Impala. Maris watched them go before making up her mind, the feelings that stirred inside her felt foreign, like they belonged to someone who loved these boys with all they had. She was giving up a lot, her freedom, her abilities, her life as it was. It didn't matter, she had to do it. She had to help. The light swamped her and she faded with the glow.

A dim glow appeared in the darkness that was the warehouse. Maris walked out of the light and gasped when she saw the condition Sam was in, knowing now that she made the right choice no matter her sacrifice. She crouched before him and touched his bloodstained cheek softly. "Sam?" Getting no response from him other than a bit of blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth on another ragged breath, she decided to act. "Sam, I want you to sleep. Just let your body heal and sleep. You'll know the right time to come out of it, but until then save your strength. Let Dean care for you. Stay strong and just rest Sam." Sam's head lolled when she took her hand away. Maris heard a noise behind her and quickly faded away.

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The two officers stared at the beaten young man before them. They had no doubt that he knew who they were and that's why he was looking into the death of their partner.

"What do you wanna do with him Tom?" The smaller man asked. The big man looked at the smaller and a feral grin twisted his features.

"We wait. The scum that took out Charlie is connected to this one. My gut instinct tells me so. He'll come. Then we'll gut him for gettin' Charlie, let this one kick it too and chalk it all up to us takin out a man responsible for the kidnapping and murder of a retarded kid.

"He didn't sound retarded Tom."

"Yeah, well no one but us knows what he sounded like do they? Now, shut the hell up and wipe the place down. Our prints can't be here just yet."

Where we headin' boy?" Bobby asked, his arm up on the door panel.

Dean shrugged. "I just know he's close. They would want me to come for him." He finished, not taking his gaze off the windshield.

"Dean, ya said ya saw him. Where was he?"

"Warehouse. Uh…" Dean swallowed hard as the vision assaulted him again, "tied to a chair."

"So it'd have to be abandoned. The waterfront? It's just across town."

"Let's go."

Dean stepped on the gas as he fell silent and soon had them at the waterfront. He drove slowly as their hunter instincts rose to the forefront and they looked for anyplace that might fit the bill for Sam's prison. "Bobby, there." Dean said, coming alive and staring out the windshield. He saw a gray four door sedan pull out of an alley and onto the road. It turned in the opposite direction and drove off.

"Pull into that alley." Bobby said. Dean eased the car into the alley and pulled around the corner of the decrepit looking building and out of sight.

"Stay here Bobby."

"No way in hell boy!"

"I don't want you hurt. They can't hurt me."

"What the hell makes you say that?!"

"'Cause, I'm gonna get them first." Dean said, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Dean, I…"

"Bobby please. I need you to take care of Sammy. Need ya to get him out if somethin' goes south."

"Dean, you're his brother. He thinks he lost ya once. Ya think he's gonna sit by and let himself lose ya again?"

Dean's eyes dropped to his clenched fists in his lap. His knuckles turned white and his voice came out soft and choked. "Bobby, I saw Sammy when Maris touched me."

"What?" The older hunter asked quietly, shocked at the tears he saw slip from Dean's eyes.

"I saw Sammy. He's dyin'."

Bobby sighed and clapped his hand on Dean's leather clad shoulder. "Alright. Go get 'im out. I'll take care of him."

Dean slid from the car, his hand pulling his knife from its sheath on his belt. He disappeared into the building. Bobby got out of the car and moved to a clear vantage point where he knew he wouldn't be seen.

Entering the darkened building Dean stopped short, his heart hammering in his chest and his eyes riveted to his brother's too still form. Dean ran to Sam's side where he sat slumped in the chair he was tied to. His chin was against his chest, blood coating his face and oozing slowly onto his shirt. They had stripped Sam down to his gray cotton t-shirt and his jeans, taking his boots and other clothing to god knows where. Dean fell to his knees in front of his brother and lifted both hands to his face, easing Sam's head upright. Dean gently untied the blindfold and removed it from Sam's closed eyes, the sticky blood clotted beneath the fabric stained Sam's skin. Blood coated Dean's fingers, making them slip on Sam's jaw until they found purchase. "Sammy. Sam, wake up."

Bobby watched as the gray sedan returned. He stared, dumbstruck, as he realized three short antennas graced the trunk lid. "Friggin cops!"

Bobby watched the two men, one easily bigger than Sam; the other smaller than Dean, get out of the sedan and head for the building. The big man fingered the gun in his holster before letting the door shut behind him. Bobby checked the clip in his own pistol before reseating it with a firm click. "Gotta keep Toody and Muldoon from gettin' to the boys. Damn cops! No wonder Dean hates 'em." Bobby slid seamlessly into hunter mode, lethal and pissed that someone dared hurt his boys, and slipped into the building.

"Come on little brother, wake up for me." Dean whispered, stroking Sam's cheek and wiping sticky blood away.

"Aw, how sweet." A gruff voice rang out. Dean stood and spun, planting himself firmly between Sam and the cop. "So, you're the one that got Charlie."

"I'm gonna get you too you sonofabitch! Where's your buddy?" Dean growled. The cop brandished the gun formerly in his holster.

The cop ignored Dean's question. "What the hell's stopping me from plugging' you here and now? I'd be willing to bet the pig sticker in your hand is the one that killed Charlie. The town would celebrate if I dropped a cop killer."

"The town will breathe a lot easier when they don't have cops rippin' them off every week." Dean said.

"Oh, so you know what we do." The big man said. The man stepped forward and Dean squared his shoulders, his fingers tightening on the hilt of the knife he carried.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure out you freakin' cops are using your power to make everyone too afraid to stand up to you bastards. Jenny was afraid." Dean growled between clenched teeth.

The cop stared as realization dawned. "You were in the diner. I knew I recognized the kid. I shot you point. You're worm food!"

"Guess again." Dean said, moving right and sweeping his hand behind his back, pulling his gun as he threw himself into a roll when the cop fired. The bullet struck the wall several feet to the right of Sam. Dean came up on his feet and raised the gun, just to get rammed hard from the side by the other cop. Dean and the smaller man went down; a gunshot sounding out as both men went rigid on the concrete floor. A gasp echoed out in the sudden silence.

Tom used the distraction to walk to where Sam was tied to the chair, still unconscious. He leveled the gun, pushing the tip of the barrel unforgivingly into Sam's skull. Tom waited, seeing one man in the pile moving. The man on top slid to the side in a boneless heap, lying still on the floor. Blood pooled beneath the facedown body and Dean sat up to see Sam's head pushed sideways by the pressure Tom was using behind the gun. Dean's own came up and leveled to point between the cop's eyes.

"You think you can shoot me before I send him to meet his maker for good this time?"

"He can't, but I can." Bobby growled as he touched his pistol to the back of the cop's neck. "Drop the gun." Bobby said, squeezing the trigger just enough to let the cop hear the first click of the firing mechanism. The cop dropped the gun. Dean stood and strode forward.

"I'm gonna see that you pay good for what you did to us. This town is gonna make your life hell. Wonder how the other lifetime inmates will treat a bad cop?" Dean slammed his fist, with all the power his fury could muster, into the big man's face. A resounding crack sounded out and the big man dropped in a heap on the floor, his broken nose smashing again into the unforgiving cement. Dean watched blood flow from a cut where the silver of his ring bit deep. "Huh, wonder how Bubba would feel about his prison bitch having a crooked nose?" Dean asked as he watched blood pool under the man's head.

"Want me to take care of him?" Bobby said as he used the cop's own cuffs on him and pocketed the key.

"Let the town deal with his sorry ass." Dean said, shifting his eyes to his broken brother.

"I'm gonna go call in a tip." Bobby went outside to use his phone.

Dean crouched down and stroked Sam's lax cheek with a gentle thumb as he checked for the source of the bleeding. Sam had a gash high in his hairline and had blood coming from his nose. Dean's fingers slipped and Sam's head tipped slightly to the right, lolling around on his shoulders. Dean tightened his grip and instantly froze when he felt new blood on his hands, still warm.

"Aw, God!" Dean tipped Sam's head gently to the left, and looked at his hand, following the blood to the source. Sam's ear. "No, no, nonononono. BOBBY!" Dean yelled, quickly pulling his knife and gently slicing though the bonds that held Sam while his other hand kept his baby brother from toppling out of the chair. Sam sagged against him as Dean shifted to cut the rope around Sam's sock clad feet. "Its okay, Sammy. You're gonna be okay. Damnit. BOBBY!"

"Quit your yellin' boy, I'm right here. I had to finish talkin' ta… Aw, Damn." Bobby said when he caught sight of Sam.

"We have to get him to a hospital. His ear, he's bleedin'." Dean eased Sam into his arms and stood, grunting only slightly under the weight. Soon he had Sam cradled against his chest and was headed for the Impala. Dean could feel blood from Sam's ear soaking into his flannel shirt. "Bobby you drive. I can't…"

"I'll get us there. You just take care of Sam." Bobby said as he threw open he back door. Dean laid Sam inside and crawled in himself, shifting Sam onto his lap and cradling his head to prevent unnecessary movement. The car's engine fired and Bobby hit the gas, tires squealing as the Impala lurched onto the asphalt. Bobby drove like a madman towards the other end of town, nearly twenty minutes away where the hospital was.

Bobby glanced in the rearview mirror when he heard Dean speaking in soft tones to Sam. "Don't you leave me Sammy. Okay? We just found each other again. Don't you quit now. It's not an option do you hear me? Just… stay." Dean shifted Sam in his arms and lowered his head to his little brother's left ear. "I love you kid, so don't go anywhere okay?"

Bobby made the turn into the Emergency entrance of the hospital seconds later, the roaring engine dying to a purr as he threw the car into park and bolted inside for help, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Where's doc Benton?"

"He's out of town with a patient at a rehab facility."

"I need help in the lot. NOW!" People scrambled and he returned less than a minute later with doctors, nurses and a gurney in tow. The team gently eased Sam from Dean's arms and onto the waiting gurney, rushing him inside. Bobby already had his cell phone in hand when Dean climbed from the car.

"_David Benton."_

"Doc, its Bobby Singer." Bobby said quickly.

"_Bobby? What is… Oh no. Sam?"_

"How fast can you get back to Bremerton?"

"_There's a chopper on the roof now. I can be there in half an hour. Do not let them do more than stabilize him until I get there."_

"Okay doc." Bobby clicked his phone shut and looked at Dean. "Half an hour."

_Please Sammy, stay… just stay with us for that half an hour._

Dean was pacing like a caged tiger; Bobby counted his eleventh trip across the tiled floor when the doors burst open and a harried looking doctor Benton ran though them. "Where is he?"

"In there. They took him in the ER as soon as we got here. We haven't heard jack."

"I'll let you know as soon as I can." Benton said as he disappeared through the hated doors to the trauma rooms beyond. Dean resumed his pacing.

"Dean, damnit would you sit down before I knock your ass down!" Bobby growled. Dean instantly obeyed the commanding tone and fell into the chair he'd just passed on his thirty second trip across the waiting room. "I mean over here jackass."

Dean stood and walked to the chair next to Bobby and sat again, staring at the tiles at his feet. He finally spoke. "I can't lose him Bobby. Not now." Bobby sat up straight and glanced at Dean to see a single tear fall from the edge of his nose to the tile between his feet. Dean looked up with a bitter chuckle, falling silent when the door opened and Benton came through. Dean was on his feet and in front of the doc, who was now wearing blood speckled green scrubs.

"Sammy?"

"He's stable. The bullet fragment moved."

**A/N: Hate me yet? Still writing, I plan on having more maybe by Monday. Drop me a line!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews. I'm glad so many of you find this one enjoyable. I've finally finished writing and now I just have to decide how many more chapters it's going to be. Right now it looks like two more after this one. Little more medical stuff here that wasn't researched. Forgive any mistakes since I'm not a doctor. Sam's pretty lucky in the beginning. You'll just have to see what happens from here. Remember, if you like what you read, drop me a line. You might get me to post quicker. Oh, and GO BOBBY!  
**

**Chapter 6**

Dean stumbled, his face paling. Bobby caught him and eased him back into the closest chair. The doctor pushed Dean's head down and told him to breathe.

"Doc, how far did the fragment move?"

"That's the good news. The hit Sam took to the head, while it fractured the skull surrounding the plate, actually moved the fragment along its original trajectory. It backed up, doing no more damage that it did on entry. That boy is the luckiest kid I've ever seen. We can remove the fragment with little risk to his function now."

"You're going to operate?" Dean asked.

"We can't."

"What? Why not?"

"The swelling. There's too much right now. We have Sam in an induced coma to bring his brain activity levels down so the swelling recedes. Once it's to manageable levels then we'll operate. We also need to go in and fix his skull. We can't do that until the pressure from the swelling is gone. It'll be a few weeks at least."

"How long will it be until you can bring him out of the coma?"

"I'm sorry. Sam will need to remain in the coma until after the surgery and until his brain can heal itself. Probably a couple months."

"No." Dean whispered, his green eyes tearing up. "Can…Can we see him?"

"Of course." The doc moved aside and a young nurse stepped up to them.

"Come with me. I'll show you where his room is." She said. They followed her to a small room two floors up, the elevator ride silent as Dean stared at the wall. She led the way into the room and quickly checked Sam's vitals before smiling comfortingly at them and making her exit. Dean stepped up to the bed to take in his brother as he lay unmoving on the bed. Sam was on a ventilator and several monitors, the _whoosh-click_ and steady _beep-beep-beep_ the only noises in the room. Dean settled into the chair that he pulled up and gently touched a tuft of Sam's hair where it stuck out of the bandages wrapped around his head. He looked at Bobby and grinned.

"Looks like they left his girly waves in place." Dean cracked before his face fell and he pulled his brother's hand into his and held it up to his cheek, careful not to disturb the IV that ran into the back of Sam's hand. Tears gathered in the green eyes as Bobby stepped forward and put a strong calloused hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He's strong Dean. He made it through this once before."

"I'm wondering if he's strong enough to do it again. I'm not sure I would be."

"Damn you Dean." Bobby said, fisting Dean's collar and yanking him roughly to his feet. Sam's hand fell back to the bed. "How dare you. If you're gonna talk like that then he's _not_ gonna fight this. You know damn well, boy, that kid looks up to you. He thinks what _you_ do and he feels what _you_ feel. I know he's in there and I know you two have a hell of a bond, one that goes beyond just bein' brothers. He can either fight or give up, but I know what he chooses to do will be what you want him to do. You wanna watch your brother give up? Is that it?"

"No." Dean said softly, casting worried eyes back to Sam. The monitors continued to beep steadily.

"What was that, boy? If you want him to give up then all you have to do is think he's not strong enough. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!"

Tears leaked from Dean's eyes before anger took over. He advanced on Bobby, fisting the old man's grease stained vest. "NO! Damnit, NO! I don't want him to give up. I want him to wake up and be perfect. NOW! I want my brother back and I want all of him back. God, Bobby. I need him back." Dean broke down and Bobby pulled him into his arms.

"You keep thinkin' that and he'll come back. I know Sam. I know he will."

There was a quiet knock at the door and the pretty young nurse walked in. Although she looked serene, her eyes were troubled and she shook just a bit as she cast the brown depths Dean's way.

"What is it?" he asked her softly, seeing her worry and fear.

"There are some police officers here to see one of Sam's family members. We've informed them that Sam is unresponsive but they'd like to speak to one of you."

Dean looked from the nurse to Bobby before looking back down at Sam. "I…"

"I've got it Dean." Bobby said.

Dean nodded, taking Sam's hand again. "Thanks man. Be careful." Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder and left the room. Dean turned his attention back to Sam.

"Hey Sammy. Bobby went to go talk to the cops. I'm still right here though. Not going anywhere." Dean fell silent, one hand on his brother's, the other in his lap. He watched the mechanically assisted rise and fall of his brother's chest and took comfort in the rhythmic beeping of the machine.

Dean had remained silent for about two hours when Bobby came back into the room. Dean looked up at his old friend to see a pinched look about his bearded face. "What's up Bobby?" Dean asked, standing from the chair beside the bed.

"The cop, the one you killed with your gun." Bobby stammered a bit.

"What Bobby?"

"They found enough evidence at his house to put him and the others away for life even if two of them weren't already dead. He was a souvenir keeper. The bastard that we left there… ringleader. He's in a federal pen pending trial."

"Hey, you mind staying with Sammy for just a minute? I need caffeine and a leg stretch."

"Sure Dean." Bobby watched him leave before taking his seat. He smoothed a thumb gently over the bandages wrapped around Sam's head and felt a tuft of unruly brown hair tickle his finger tip. "Woulda been easier if I'd let them shave your head first time around, huh kid? Couldn't do it then and can't now."

Dean went down the hall to the coffee machine and got a cup, actually surprised that it wasn't the typical hospital sludge. He sipped the hot, fresh brew and wandered down the hall. Dean found himself drawn down to a wing of the hospital that he'd never expected. Bland gray doors with wire grids in the windows stopped his forward momentum and he looked above them. A long rectangular sign screamed "PSYCHIATRIC WARD", burning the letters into his mind. Dean stared at the doors before shaking his head and turning back. He went back to Sam's room and took his place at his brother's side.

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "I gotta get home Dean. Call me if anything changes and I'll be here in a couple hours."

"Alright Bobby. We'll be okay." Dean said, smiling wanly up at his old friend. "Hey Bobby?"

"Yeah kid?"

"When Sammy gets better, ya mind if we come stay with ya for a bit?"

"Boy, if ya didn't come home for a while I'd be pissed. I'll see ya both soon."

Dean turned his attention back to his brother, carrying on a one sided conversation before Bobby even eased the door shut.

The days progressed like this, Dean being at the hospital at six a.m., the start of visiting hours, and not moving from his brother's side until way after they ended. He took part in the physical therapy, the gentle assisted motion and stretching of Sam's muscles and joints to keep them toned and flexible. He took over most of Sam's care, like cutting his fingernails and brushing his teeth. Wounds healed and bandages were removed and Sam remained still. Dean's voice never fell silent, never wavered, never lost his hopeful tone when it came to Sam.

"Thursday morning Sammy. It's been a weird three weeks, little brother, gotta tell you that." A soft knock sounded on the door the staff had taken to keeping closed to give Dean and Sam peace from the bustling halls. Dean got up and opened it. Doc Benton stood on the other side, having taken over Sam's care again. He also knew Dean's circumstances and Dean admired the man for not running in terror, at the fact that Dean had apparently been dead for three weeks and some change. "Hey Dave."

"Dean." David Benton said, practically beaming.

"What's going on? You look like the cat that got the whole chicken."

"The swelling is down in Sam's brain, actually to a better level than the first time around. We can go in, remove the fragment, and barring more swelling we should be able to bring him out of the coma in less than another month. Dean smiled and turned to his brother, running a hand through his longer hair. He stared for a moment, realizing even that had grown nearly an inch since the day in the diner. "Ya hear that Sammy? You're doin' good. Now just keep doin' it and Bobby and I'll have you sprung before you know it. When are you gonna do the operation?"

"I'd like to have him in by two o'clock this afternoon, if that's alright?"

"That's great. Hey Doc?"

"Yeah Dean?"

"I wanna call Bobby, have him come in before the surgery."

"Of course."

"And doc?"

The doc stopped at the door and turned back.

"Sammy's hair…"

"Not going to touch it Dean, I promise."

"Hey, I meant to ask you, why didn't you before?"

"Bobby wouldn't let us."

"Thanks, Dave." The doctor left.

"I'll be right back Sammy. Bobby will wanna be here." Dean went out onto a small balcony just down the hall from Sam's room and dialed his old friend's cell.

"_Dean?"_ Bobby answered at the end of the first ring.

"Hey Bobby. Thought you'd wanna know that the swelling is down enough that they're gonna go in after the fragment."

"_When?"_

"Two o'clock this afternoon."

"_I'll be there by noon."_

"See you then." Dean closed his phone and went back to his brother.

"Hey Sammy. Bobby's on his way. We wanna spend some time with you before the surgery. I know you're nervous but I wan'cha to know that we're both gonna be right here waitin' and you're gonna be fine. As soon as you wake up we're gonna get the hell outta here. We'll go to Bobby's and chill, just spend some time…" Dean breathed a small laugh. "You really know how to crack a guy, ya know that? Three weeks, twenty one days without a sound from you. No wiseass remarks, not hearing you call me a jerk… you're a bitch by the way, just so you don't forget that." Dean smiled. "I miss you man. I know it's been rough but now I know why Maris made me promise that I wouldn't let you know I was back. Sorry for that by the way. But she was right. I never woulda stopped those three. I'd have just let them go to make sure you were okay. They would've hurt someone else." Dean stood from the chair and smoothed a hand through Sam's shoulder length hair, amazed at how it had grown in the last few weeks. "Need a trim kiddo. Not gonna push though. You want it long, we'll leave it long. At least till the first hunt in the woods that gets you caught in a tree limb." Dean grinned at Sam. "Hey, don't go there. I can't help you're tall enough you share airspace with the redwoods."

Dean fell into the chair he'd been occupying nearly non-stop for the last three weeks. He pulled it closer to Sam's bed and reached a hand out to Sam again, this time gripping his shoulder before allowing the hand to drift to his brother's side and grip his hand. Dean put his head down on the bed and faced his brother, looking up into his closed eyes. "I know Sammy. I know it's hard, you still think I'm gone. Somewhere in there though, I know that you know I'm here. I AM HERE. No matter what Sammy, you're not alone. I need ya to know that because I need ya back Sammy. Just… just get through this surgery and wake up. Wake up for me Sammy." Dean turned his head into the mattress and clenched his eyes shut against the sting that plagued him. Sam's lax hand rested in Dean's against the older man's cheek. Dean's breathing leveled out and deepened. He unconsciously eased into the touch at his cheek when he felt a finger shift.

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Bobby walked into Sam's room after chatting with several nurses, Jean included, to find Dean asleep, his head on the bed next to Sam's hand which he still held in his hand. Sam's fingers were wrapped in his. "Oh, kid, it's been a tough couple weeks." He whispered. Dean stirred in the chair and lifted his head. Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder because he knew Dean wasn't fully awake and didn't hear him come in. "It's okay Dean. 'S me."

"Bobby? You're here already?" Dean asked, rubbing the back of his stiff neck.

"It's ten till twelve kid."

"Oh man." Dean rubbed his forehead and grinned sheepishly. "I think I finally cracked a little while ago."

Bobby was astonished. "Finally?!" He croaked. "Boy I'd have flat out broke before this. You're human. It is allowed. You know what?"

"What?"

"I have no one to blame but myself."

"Huh?"

"I shoulda shot your daddy in the ass a long time ago for how he taught you boys ta act. If I could I'd raise his ass from the dead, pump him fulla salt and send him right back!"

"But Bobby…"

"No buts kid. I know what you're gonna say… that Sam needs you right now, but I'm gonna tell you that he's gonna need you a helluva lot more in the next few weeks. How's he doin anyway? You mentioned the swellin' goin' down?"

"Yeah, Doc says it's better than the first time around. He's healed more now than when he first woke up. They wanna do the surgery this afternoon and then let him heal again before bringin' him out of the coma."

Bobby moved to the bed and ran a calloused hand gently over Sam's hair. "Ya did good kid." Dean pulled another chair up from the corner and Bobby sat next to him at Sam's bedside. He and Dean talked quietly, about what happened, about Sam's care. A soft knock sounded on the door and Sam's nurse walked in.

"Hey Jean."

"Well, Hi Bobby. Dean, I need to prep Sam. You guys mind stepping out for just a minute?"

"C'mon Dean, let's go get lunch. I never stopped on the way here." Dean stood from the chair but remained watching his little brother. Jean stepped up and touched his arm.

"Dean, The doctor expects the surgery to go really well. Why don't you and Bobby go get some lunch and then rest? It's going to take a few hours at least. I'll call you personally when Sam's in recovery."

"How long?"

"Four to six hours." Jean hugged Dean. "Get some rest. He's going to need you."

Dean returned the hug. "You'll call me the minute he's out?"

"Promise." Bobby grabbed Dean by the elbow and walked him out of the hospital. Once outside Dean leaned against the side of the building and doubled over, running both hands over his short hair and down the back of his neck.

"Oh man Bobby. I can't do this. I can't leave him alone for this." Dean stood from where he was leaning and spun, putting an elbow up on the brick facing of the wall. "I never expected it to be so damn hard to leave him. I know he needs this but… I just can't." Dean turned away from Bobby and headed towards the building. Bobby ran after him and grabbed his arm, stopping his headlong flight back into the hospital.

"Dean, ya aren't doin him any good waitin around here. They can't let you into the surgery with him and waiting around ain't gonna do you any good either. I know you haven't been leavin' him. You've been sleepin' in that damn chair until they make you leave at night. Dean, you wanna take care of Sam right?"

"Hell yes Bobby! He's my baby brother!"

"Take care of yourself. Just for the couple hours they need to get him on his way back to ya. To us." Dean cast one last glance up the side of the building to the window he knew to be Sam's before nodding mutely and going with Bobby.

Bobby guided Dean to the Impala and watched once again as Dean's attention was divided between the hospital and his present surroundings. The sun shone on Dean's pale face making his freckles stand out more then Bobby had ever seen. The dark colored freckles were only rivaled by the darker smudges that rested beneath Dean's shiny green eyes.

"Dean, gimme your keys." Bobby said, holding out a hand. Dean startled from his staring at the hospital and shoved a hand in his pocket, pulling the jangling keys. He handed them to Bobby without a fight. _He's more tired than I thought._ Bobby thought as he saw Dean crawl into the passenger side seat of the Impala. Bobby got in and noticed Dean fidget. He opened his mouth to say something but Dean rolled his head away on the seat back and inhaled deeply, soon stilling. Bobby fired the engine and pulled slowly out of the hospital lot. Bobby drove to a restaurant and parked near the door of the building. Dean rolled his head sleepily to Bobby and opened his eyes to slits.

"We goin'in for somethin' t'eat? He slurred sleepily.

"I'm just gonna go in and get somethin' to go. Stay here."

"Mm, okay." Dean snuggled deeper into the passenger seat and let the sun streaming through the windshield warm him. _The seat smells like the girly shampoo you use Sammy. God, I haven't smelled that in so long. You be okay little brother. Please be okay._ Dean was released from his thoughts when the sun and sleep pulled him into their joined embrace.

Bobby returned several minutes later with two bags of food. He saw Dean's closed eyes and slouching form through the windshield and set the bags on the roof of the car. He opened the heavy door with both hands to stop the squeak he knew was there. Dean sighed and fell still again. Bobby put the home cooked food on the seat between them and slid inside, shutting the door with as little noise as possible. He drove aimlessly for a half hour, just letting Dean get the most real sleep that he could. He knew from when John owned this car it was the only place that either of the boys could truly relax. Sam still slept the best to the rumbling engine and music, even when it blared from the speakers. Finally pulling into the motel where Dean had been staying, the closest one to the hospital, Bobby shut off the engine and gently nudged Dean. He jumped and opened his eyes before closing them again as he stretched as far as the confines of the big car would allow.

"We back at the motel?"

"Yeah, and lunch is gettin' cold on the seat. Come on. I wanna sit down on something that isn't leather and doesn't involve a gas pedal." Bobby groaned slightly as he eased himself from the car. Dean got out, stretching again, and then reached back for the bags, following Bobby to the motel room. Dean pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door, throwing the key on the stand next to it. Dean sauntered in and put the food on the table, falling into one of the fairly comfortable wooden chairs. Bobby joined him and they ate in silence.

Dean ate like he'd been starved for a month and then given a feast. When he finished his two cheeseburgers, potato wedges and large coffee he stared past Bobby and into the room with a grimace on his face. Bobby looked at him quizzically.

"What Boy? You swallow something wrong?"

Dean tipped his head in the direction of the bedroom area of the motel. "Habit." Was all he said. Bobby turned and followed Dean's nod. Two full size beds nearly filled the small room.

"Might as well use 'em till Jean calls us, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess." Bobby took the one closest to the door. The bed Dean had only used a half dozen times since Sam's latest admission to the hospital. Dean took the bed that had been vacant the whole time and was soon asleep. Bobby listened to the younger man's breathing even out before allowing himself to follow.

Several hours later the musical tones of Metallica's _I Disappear _sounded out in the dim early evening lighting that filtered through the drawn curtains. Dean snapped awake on the crescendo of the ring tone and grabbed for his phone which he dimly remembered placing on the bedside stand near his head.

"Hello?"

"Dean, its Jean from the hospital. You need to get down here as quick as you can."

**A/N: Hope you liked it and will hit the button to let me know. Little side note: Jean, you're about to save a Winchester's sanity.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Someone mentioned a little inconsistency with my time table on an earlier chapter and I knew something was bugging me about it but I couldn't find it. Thanks to the sharp eyes that did and sorry if it threw anyone else off. Also someone mentioned they thought the brothers were normally a little more stoic with regards to emotion and public displays thereof. If my little brother had been in his second coma in two months I'd crack around the edges a little too. But hey, thanks at least for letting me know you're out there and you read. To everyone else, thanks for the awesome reviews and the support on this one. People are waiting and I'm done rambling. Enjoy the long chapter. Last one will go up this evening and it's just another epilogue.**

**One more thing...HUGE THANKS AND A SHOUT OUT TO SKAG TRENDY FOR A TIDBIT OF MEDICAL INFO THAT I COULDN'T FIND ON THE NET ANYWHERE. THANKS FOR THE HELP GIRL AND I MISS YOU SO YOU BETTER GET WRITING! Hope the mate's wedding went perfectly.**

**Chapter 7**

"Jean, what's wrong with Sammy?" Dean said, coming fully awake with a cold dread in his heart. He looked at Bobby, who had sat up on the other bed, his eyes cloudy with worry.

"Never mind, I'm on my way." Dean flipped his phone closed and ran from the room, Bobby close behind. They threw themselves into the Impala and had peeled out of the parking lot even before they had the doors closed. Dean ran red lights and ignored the honking of horns and the squeal of brakes and made it to the hospital in less than two minutes. Dean ran from the car and crashed through the hospital doors. Jean was waiting just inside the entrance and Dean nearly ran her over before he saw her.

"Jean! Sammy?"

"His blood pressure bottomed out and he had a seizure on the table. C'mon, Doc Benton wants you to scrub in and be there." Dean turned to Bobby.

"GO BOY! I'll be here. Sammy needs ya." Dean nodded and hurried down the hall behind Jean who led him into a wash room and helped him scrub in and change. Once Dean was clad in pale blue scrubs and a mask covering his face, with a cap on his head, Jean took him into the room where they had Sam on a table. Doctor Benton was standing to the right side of Sam's head, which was shrouded in a blue paper drape. Only Sam's face was visible to Dean. An irregular beeping was sounding out through the tense silence that was only broken by the whisper of paper shoe covers and the rustle of coarse scrubs, along with the occasional utterance for a surgical instrument. Dean's eyes shifted from Sam's pale face to the doc's to see the sweat beading up on his brow that a nurse hastily wiped away. The beeping shifted into a more irregular pattern and the doctor swore.

"Damnit, his pressure's bottoming again. Brace for another seizure." The nurses surrounding Sam all stepped close and grabbed his body, two of them gently holding Sam's head completely steady. "Dean, I'm glad you're here. Do whatever you can to reach him. I have no doubt that you can."

Dean moved to where he could see Sam's face clearly. He glared at the nurse that was holding a hand over Sam's chin and she looked at him. "I've got him. It's okay. Let go." Dean said, forcing his tone to soften. He took over the grip on his brother's head, holding it steady but gently. "No Sammy. C'mon, don't do this. I'm here now an' everything's gonna be okay. Just hang on. C'mon, lemme help Sammy." Dean let his gentle grip on Sam's chin slide and, instead, stroked his face soothingly. The doctor glanced at Dean and then at the instruments monitoring Sam as the beeps began to steady and return to a normal rhythm. "That's my boy. It's gonna be okay Sammy." Dean slid one hand into his brother's as it lay unmoving on the table. He gripped Sam's hand strongly and smoothed his thumb over it in soothing circles, feeling muscle and bone, and more importantly, warmth beneath pale skin. Dean glanced up as he heard the unmistakable sound of metal bouncing off of plastic as the bullet fragment was removed and dropped into a kidney bowl, with the doc's triumphant shout of "Got it!"

Dean smiled under his mask, his eyes crinkling even as they brimmed with tears. "Ya hear that Sammy? He got it. It's all gonna be okay. I'm here and I'm not leavin'. We're gonna get you better and we're gonna ditch this place and kick back for a while." Dean stroked Sam's face again and stood from his crouch. "Sound good? Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay. I'm going to go ahead and refasten the plate, Dean, and we'll get him closed up and into recovery. It'll probably be another hour or so, but I'll come for you as soon as he's settled. Great job Dean. He's completely stable now."

Dean looked back into Sam's face and smiled again under the mask. He squeezed Sam's hand before letting go. "I'll see you soon Sammy. I promise. Just hang in there." Dean looked at doc Benton. "Thanks doc. I'll see ya soon too." Jean showed Dean out into the washroom again, where he changed his clothes and she removed her mask. She walked out of the room with Dean to where Bobby waited.

Bobby stood from the chair and made his way to Dean, an anxious look on his face. "What happened Dean? Sam alright?"

"He is now. Dave got the fragment. He's finishing up and then Sam'll be in recovery. We can see him then."

Bobby whooped with joy and pulled Dean into his arms, both hunters losing control and laughing aloud with relief. When they settled down Dean pulled out of Bobby's arms and turned to Jean. "Thanks for callin' me. He needed me here."

"I know he did, I saw that. But it was David that told me to call you. He's seen how Sam responds to you and he felt it was the only way to get Sam through the surgery."

"Thanks for that." Dean sagged into a chair near the wall and Bobby took the other one near it. Jean smiled at the two weary men and left.

"That's good to hear, ya know that?" Bobby said.

"What is?"

"That Sam responds to ya. That he needs ya."

"You think I don't know that? I know this deal is killin' him. I couldn't do it Bobby. I still can't. Just lettin' him go? Not an option. Never an option."

"Look, Dean, We'll deal with whatever comes our way, just gotta get your brother better first."

"Yeah." The two hunters fell silent, not knowing what else to say. Dean was lost in thought, Maris, Sam, the deal. Everything that has happened to them in the few short weeks since the gate was opened. Dean saw white sneaker clad feet come into his line of sight and break his dazed glare at the floor tile. He glanced up.

"Dave? Everything go alright with Sammy?"

"He's in recovery. We'll be moving him back to his old room as soon as we finish the transfusion. As I'm sure you know, scalp wounds bleed profusely. It wasn't a wound but when we went in for the surgery we peeled back a section of his scalp. He didn't lose dangerous amounts but I wanted him one hundred percent stable before we settle him in and his blood pressure was still just a bit low. He's doing well, although his appearance might shock you when you go in the room. With surgery on any area of the head, since there's not much soft tissue to swell and disguise bruising, it gets quite dark and fairly extensive. But because there's not much tissue the healing time is quicker. The bruises Sam has are mostly due to the fact that he was beaten, pretty severely, but some of it also came from the surgery. It's pretty black looking now but should green out and start fading within the next few days."

"When is he gonna wake up?"

"We're watching him closely; CT's every day and an MRI twice a week. When the swelling reaches manageable levels where an anti-inflammatory drug can handle it we'll start bringing him out of the coma. I wish I could tell you more Dean, but this part of it… it's up to Sam." The doctor's beeper went off and he looked at the screen. He looked up at Dean and smiled. "He's being settled into his room now. Wanna go see him?"

"Hell yes." Dean said, standing from the chair. Bobby followed them and the doc took them to Sam's old room, where a nurse and an orderly were just finishing up his move from the portable gurney to his hospital bed. Dean stopped outside the door when the nurse moved enough to allow him to see his brother. The doc was already in the room and examining Sam.

"Dean?" Dean shook himself at the sound of his name, spoken by the doc and echoed by Bobby.

"Yeah." Dean said, moving into the room to stand by the bed. Sam was a mess. His head was swathed in bandages, a couple small spots of red showing through on the right side. Tufts of his long hair were sticking up in all directions at the top of the bandages and it stuck out, lying against the pillow and curling over the collar of his white hospital issue tee-shirt. The nurse and orderly left.

"I'll check back in a couple hours."

"Thanks Dave." Bobby said, walking the doctor to the door. Dean pulled up a chair and put it beside the bed, falling into it as he reached for his brother's hand.

"God, Sammy. You really know how to scare a guy. But Doc says you're gonna be okay. I'm here and I'm gonna make sure of it. We're gonna get those big puppy dog eyes of yours open and head for the hills. I so wanna get out of here. Know you do too."

Dean talked to Sam non-stop, seeming to pick up right where he left off. Bobby watched for a while, silently, as Dean brought up memories, told stories. Finally when Dean mentioned something that was just truly between the brothers, seemingly having forgotten Bobby was in the background, he made his exit silently. Bobby returned several hours later to find Dean asleep with his feet up on the rail by Sam's hand and his chin tucked against his chest. He walked quietly into the room and touched Dean's shoulder. Dean sat up straight and nearly toppled the chair when his boot got caught on the rail.

"God, turn my hair gray whydon'cha?" Dean snarked. Bobby grinned.

"Hey, friend of mine called. Needs help on a hunt. Somethin' killin' kids in the northwest. You gonna be okay here if I…"

"Go Bobby. Nothin' has a right to kill children. Hey… cut off its head for me would ya?"

"Ya got it. Take care of yourself too Dean. I'll check back in a few days. Keep me posted if something changes."

"You know I will." Dean walked the older man back to the door of the room. "Hey Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks man." Dean said, hugging his old friend. "For everything. Just…ah, take care of yourself."

"I'll be back 'fore you know it." Bobby left and Dean retook his seat, talking to his brother again. The days passed all the same. Dean had rented the same room in the motel for another month, returning only every couple days to shower and get some real rest. That was the only time he left Sam's side that Sam hadn't been taken for tests or examined. Nurses came in and left again, smiling at Dean when he asked how his brother was doing, saying the swelling was steadily going down. Blacks and dark purples of bruises faded to greens and yellows and stitches and bandages were removed once again. Sam's hair grew another quarter inch. Dean had taken over the physical therapy once again, along with some rudimentary care, all the while talking to his brother, cracking jokes and predicting Sam's response.

"Ya know kid; I'm beginning to wonder if I'm goin' insane here. I could swear I heard some lame ass comeback for that last joke." A knock sounded on the door and Jean poked her head in.

"Hey Dean. How's he doin' today?"

"He's good."

"Doctor Benton is looking for you. I had to tell him he wasn't looking very hard."

Dean snorted a laugh. "Yeah, not like I'm not easy to find huh?"

"Yeah. He wondered if you'd mind coming to his office."

"Sure." Dean followed the nurse to a room with a light colored wooden door. She knocked and then pushed it open.

"Dean, come on in." Dave said from where he sat at the large oak desk in the center of the room.

"What's up?"

"We want to bring Sam out of the coma. The swelling is down."

Dean grinned. "That's awesome. When?"

"How about today?"

"You're kiddin'?"

"No." The doctor leaned forward and Dean watched as his face took on a sober look. "I have to warn you Dean, it's not a short process. There are a series of IV injections that are going to lower the amount of benzodiazepines in his system. He'll show signs, as the levels drop, of waking, but it can take anywhere from a few minutes to an hour for him to fully awaken. Even then he won't be the most alert and probably fall back asleep right away. It'll be similar to exhaustion for the first week or so. I just want you to be prepared. He's not going to talk much, if at all, and he'll be confused."

"It's fine doc. I just wanna see him wake up."

The doctor stood from his desk and slid his arms into a white lab coat. "Alright. I'll order up the drugs and some tests. I'll have Jean come in and she'll be his monitor. I want to make sure he doesn't wake too quickly."

"What do I do?"

"What you've always done. Be there. Talk to him."

"Doc, he thinks I'm dead. He thinks he burned me."

"Oh, good point. I'd forgotten that."

"I'll call Bobby. He told me he finished up his business a few days ago. Are you gonna go ahead and start wakin' him up?"

"Bobby won't be able to get here before he shows any significant changes. We'll prep him for it and wait about another hour." Dean headed outside into the sunshine, letting it warm him as he dialed the familiar number.

"_Yeah?"_

"Hey Bobby, its Dean."

"_Dean? How's Sam?"_

"Doc wants to wake him up. We kinda forgot that he thinks I'm dead."

"_I'll be there in a few hours."_

"Thanks Bobby." Dean hung up the phone and stood outside for just a bit. The sun, yellow and large in the clear blue sky shone down warmly. He raised his face to it and closed his eyes, seeing the glare through his lids. He allowed himself to smile, truly, for the first time in nearly four weeks, since Sam had been kidnapped and beaten. Three weeks, five days and seventeen hours... "Huh, first time I ever lost track of the minutes." Dean headed back inside the hospital.

He found Doc Benton and Jean in the room. Jean was just checking Sam's IV port. "Did you reach Bobby?"

"Yeah. He's on his way. What are you gonna give Sammy?"

"Flumazenil. It's something that will help to counteract the benzodiazepine in his system. He's due an injection every one to two minutes. Sam should start showing a reaction almost immediately and that will keep building with every injection for the first ten minutes. After that we wait and if he doesn't wake within the first hour we repeat the procedure."

"It won't hurt him?"

"The effects happen rapidly. He'll start to move, maybe make some noise, but no, there shouldn't be any discomfort." He turned to Jean. "Page me when Bobby arrives and we'll wake Sam up. I want to finish my rounds so I can spend the necessary time in here."

"Sure thing, Dave." Jean said as the doc walked out of the room.

Dean stood from where he'd just sat down in the chair that had found a new home only several inches from the bed. He walked over and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the window. He ran a hand up over his spiky hair and down over his neck, kneading out a knot in the muscles there. Jean saw the look on his face and walked over to him.

"Dean, Sam will be fine. He's strong, and more importantly he has a strong person, a couple strong people, to help him through anything that may come up. It's obvious that you and Bobby love him. A patient can't ask for better care than the care that comes from a person who loves them." Dean blinked back tears at her words and stared out the window, through the vertical blinds.

"If you knew everything we've been through…" Dean sighed. "Our whole lives, his whole life, all we've known is losing the people that we love. It's happened so much and it's…" She touched his arm comfortingly. Dean stopped himself and turned to Jean. "You're right, I'm here for him and so is Bobby. That's all he needs."

She patted Dean on the shoulder. "That's right." Dean leaned close and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks Jean. For everything."

"Hey, hey, hey. Knock it off, you're gonna give Sam nightmares." Bobby said as he walked through the door of the room. Jean blushed scarlet and smiled at Bobby.

"I'm going to page Dave. Be good, you two." Jean left the room and used the phone at the nurses' station. When she returned it was with Doc Benton in tow and a tray laden with syringes in her arms. Dean looked at the needles and cringed. "They're not actually going into Sam's skin Dean. They're going into the IV port at his elbow." Jean said, smiling reassuringly.

"And you're sure this isn't going to hurt him?"

"Positive." Doc said as Jean sat the tray down on the bedside table. She handed the doctor one of the syringes, the first of five. "I want to push these every minute forty five. The drug's half life drops after ten minutes." The doc pulled the cap off the syringe and reached for the IV port. "In." he said as he inserted the needle and pushed the plunger. Jean had her eyes glued to the small watch on her wrist.

Doc Benton reached for the second syringe as she counted. "We're at one minute." Dean watched as Sam's fingers twitched, the muscles under the skin of his hands and arms rippling slightly.

"One minute fifteen…..twenty…………thirty……….forty…"

"IV push….In." The doctor said. Sam's brow furrowed and relaxed and his head shifted to the left a tiny amount, his feet moved under the coverlet that was folded to his waist. The beeping of the heart monitor, which had remained steady and slow, now picked up just a small amount. Jean, while still looking at her watch, spoke again.

"We're at one minute twenty seconds…….thirty……..forty five."

"In." Doc simply said as he pushed the third plunger. Sam's breathing picked up speed within seconds of receiving the clear liquid. Dean watched as his face screwed up and he moaned low in his throat. "Dean you'd better step out. Don't think it'll do him any good to see you standing over him if he thinks you're dead." The doc said, watching the concern on the older Winchester's face and hating to hurt him.

"Yeah… Yeah, you're right." Dean said quietly as he walked out of the room.

"One minute forty seconds…forty five." Jean counted off.

"IV push in." Sam's head moved again and his eyes opened. Bobby stepped up and looked at the faraway look the hazel eyes held.

"Sam?" He touched the boy's cheek gently with the back of a warm hand. "Sammy, you with us now?" No response came to Bobby other than the slow blink of hazel eyes. Bobby looked at the doc with worry darkening his features. The doctor came forward and raised the head of the bed. He leaned in and shined his penlight in Sam's eyes watching his pupils contract and then expand when the light left them.

"Sam, its Doctor Benton. Can you understand what I'm saying?" The doc put his stethoscope to Sam's chest and listened. There was no response from the young man, not even a flinch at the touch of cold metal. The doc straightened and looked at Bobby. "He's catatonic."

"What?!" Bobby said, echoed by Dean who strode back into the room.

"What happened?" Dean said.

"I'm not sure. I need to run some tests to make sure it's not related to the seizure he had on the table." The doc left to order the tests and soon Sam was taken for them. Dean, in shock, collapsed into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Dean?" Bobby questioned his friend.

"How much more are we going to be asked to take?" Dean brokenly whispered. "How many more hits can we handle before we break Bobby?"

Bobby wrapped a flannel clad arm around Dean's leather sporting ones. "Don't have to take any alone, Dean. I'm here too. We'll get him back."

"Thanks." Dean whispered, standing to stare out the window. "Maris?" Dean whispered as a flash of white below in the hospital drive caught his eye. Dean bolted from the room before Bobby could stop him.

"Dean!" Bobby cried, striding quickly after him. "Damnit Boy!"

"WHY THE HELL IS THIS HAPPENING TO MY BROTHER?!" Dean demanded as he strode up to the serene looking woman standing in front of him. "What the hell part are you playin' here lady?" Dean was stopped by Bobby's hand on his shoulder as he advanced on Maris and menaced her with a raised hand.

"Dean!"

"I want answers! NOW!"

"Dean, Sam needs this. You might not like it but its healing. You know how to bring him out of it. You'll know when the time is right and what to do. Let him rest. Go back inside Dean. He needs you."

"I wish I understood you."

"You will in time." Maris said as her form faded.

Dean looked at Bobby and shook his head. "What's happening?"

"Let's go back in and wait on Sam."

"Alright." They were back in the room for only a few minutes when Doc Benton entered.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked, immediately after seeing no one else enter the room.

"We took him for the tests and he lashed out, became combative. It's a more rare form of catatonia. It goes from stages where he remains still and mute for hours or days and then shifts, becomes aggression, violence, before it exhausts him and he slides back into the former stage. He shoved Jean into a wall." The doctor began leading them down a hall that Dean began to recognize.

"She okay?" Bobby asked.

"She has a sprained wrist and several small scratches. We had to put Sam in the psychiatric ward. I'm sorry."

"I want to see my brother." Dean said, carefully enunciating every word.

"Dean, he's been restrained and sedated. He slides seamlessly from one extreme to the other and although he hasn't had much physical activity in the past weeks, the condition makes him remarkably strong. He's dangerous."

"My brother isn't dangerous. I'm going to see him and if anyone restrains him again they're goin' to deal with me. Is that clear, Doctor?"

"I'm sorry Dean. I have to look out for my staff and the other patients. If Sam is released from the restraints and becomes a danger to himself or anyone else during another episode I will have to transfer him to a high security hospital. I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice. I like you Dean and I'm sorry we can't see eye to eye here."

"Sam is physically healed?" Bobby broke in, blocking Dean from lashing out as he saw the younger man's features darken with menace.

"Yes, Bobby, he is. The seizure didn't trigger the psychotic break, and shows no signs of recurring. There's no swelling or permanent damage. If he wouldn't be like this he could be released."

"Good, then. Get me AMA papers. We're takin' him home. No one to deal with there but us. No one he can hurt. And no one to stress him out." Bobby said.

"Fine." The doctor said. "You can wait with him if it helps calm him." The doctor walked to the nurses' station and hit a buzzer which opened the door with the wire mesh Dean had seen earlier. Bobby and Dean went in and found Sam in a bed with rails on both sides. His wrists were encased in padded leather straps and buckled tightly. His head was turned away from the door and resting on a pillow that was fastened to the head of the bed. Bobby returned to the corridor, unable to look at Sam as he was.

"Oh, Sammy." Dean said as he moved to the bed. He touched Sam's arms and felt the muscle and sinews bunch beneath his grip. "Hey, it's me. It's okay. You're okay. We're takin' you home." Dean reached to release the leather that bound Sam's wrists. "Damn, he hates restraints. Probably made him worse. C'mon Sammy. Gonna get you outta here." The right wrist was freed and Dean loosened the left.

"What are you doing?" Dean rounded on the speaker, fury darkening his green eyes, changing the color to resemble a stormy sea.

"I'm takin' him outta here before you can drive him mad!" Dean took two deep breaths and turned away from the security guard, reaching for his brother as Bobby returned with a wheel chair and a bundle of Sam's clothing from the trunk of the Impala, having signed release papers.

Bobby helped Dean to dress his little brother, something Dean hadn't done fully since Sam was three. "C'mon Dean. Let's get him home."

"Yeah." Dean said, lifting an unresponsive, quiet Sam from the bed and settling him into the chair. They wheeled him out and down the hall. Outside the hospital Jean waited near the Impala as Dean wheeled his brother to the passenger side of the car.

"I'm sorry Jean." Dean said when he saw her splinted wrist.

"Don't be. I don't blame Sam. I saw what happened. The hospital psychiatrist is a real bastard sometimes. He started to put the restraints on Sam and he freaked. I stepped in and well, I know how hard a wall can be now."

"Still, I'm sorry. Sammy would've never hurt you if he…" Jean stepped forward and kissed Dean, the startled Winchester taking a second to respond before his lips softened and captured hers. She pulled away.

"Take care of Sam. I know you can get him back." She looked at Sam and ran a hand through his hair. His only response was a slow blink. "Oh, his bracelet! The psychiatrist deemed it a danger even though it was too tight to even move on his wrist. He took it off. It's lying on the table in the corner of the room."

"I'll go back in and get it." Dean said. "Soon as I get Sammy in the car. Bobby, can ya stay with him?"

"Course Dean. Ya know that." Dean eased Sam from the chair, breathing in his brother's scent as Sam's head lolled to Dean's shoulder. Once settled in the passenger seat, Dean fastened his seatbelt, glad he'd put the shoulder straps in when he rebuilt his car after the crash, and pulled it tight enough to support Sam as his body shifted to rest against the seat.

"Be right back." Dean said as he went inside. Jean smiled at Bobby before walking to her own car.

"Boy, we're gonna get you home and get ya better. I promise ya that." Bobby said as he slid into the back passenger seat, leaving the door open, and wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders from behind, hugging him slightly.

Inside the hospital Dean walked down the corridor to where he remembered Sam's room being. He stopped outside a closed door as the figure inside caught his attention. He recognized the long straight hair that was all he could see of the face. Dean opened the door after checking to see the hall was clear. He went inside and around to face the figure sitting in the chair by the window. His heart pounded as he recognized her. "Maris?"

She wore the white dress he remembered from the bridge, a sleeveless gown he now recognized as nearly the same he'd last seen his mother wearing all those years ago and then again when he finally went home. Dean crouched down in front of her, catching her eyes and yet not. They held a faraway, almost vacant look. Dean's hand shook as he reached out to touch her cheek, his green eyes not leaving her odd colored ones. She was pale, her skin far paler than he remembered, her violet eyes nearly opaque.

"Maris? Hey, it's Dean. You remember me? Aw, Maris, what happened?" Dean turned when he saw the shadows change on the wall, a glow coming from behind him. It was a glow he was familiar with as he watched it brighten the room. He waited for her form to appear. When it did his chin dropped. "M-mom?"

"Hi, Dean." Dean blinked at her as a single tear coursed down his face as the glow faded from around his mother. The light stayed in her wavy blond hair.

"What's going on? W-why are you he-here? I thought you finally got to… y'know, rest?"

"I did, but not even death can keep a mother from her baby boys when they truly need her. I've let it keep me away for far too long." Her smile faded and she looked at her oldest, tears brimming in her own green eyes, the eyes her son possessed that shined equally as bright.

"Mom…" Dean stifled a sob. "Sammy, I let him down." Mary stepped up to Dean and cupped his cheek with a gentle hand. His eyes fluttered as he leaned into the touch.

"No baby. No you didn't. You had a choice on the bridge. You could have crossed; your pain would have been gone. That's why I was there. I had to make sure you remembered Sammy. You're all he has. I'm so sorry I kept you from resting, but your future, it isn't in death. It's with Sam and the destiny you share. Go to your brother. Take him to Bobby's. Something will happen to let you reach him. You will save Sammy."

"What destiny, mom?"

Mary closed her mouth, frowning just slightly. "I'm sorry." The glow grew around her and forced Dean to blink repeatedly. His eyes watered and he lifted a hand to them to clear the moisture.

"Mom, wait!" Dean said, reaching out a hand to the brightness in the room. The light diminished and she was gone.

"What's going on in…Dean?"

"Hey doc." Dean said, greeting Doctor Benton as he came into the room where Maris still sat in the chair, unmoving, behind Dean.

"What are you doing in here Dean? Maris is on restriction for her visitors."

"Doc, what happened to her?"

"I really can't…"

"Doc, I know Maris. Please, what happened?"

Doctor Benton led Dean out of the room, closing the door softly. "This is breaking protocol but you'll find out anyway when the officer they arrested, just after Sam was brought back in, goes to trial. The officer and two of his partners were responsible for a slew of crimes, robbery and theft to full blown murder. Tom Berringer was one of the officers, also responsible for you and your brother. The big man that robbed the restaurant. They found a key on his ring that matched one on one of the other men, found with him in a warehouse due to an anonymous tip. When detectives and internal affairs went to the other man's home they found a locked room in the basement. No windows and one steel door. It was sound proofed and dark. Maris was inside. Dean, the bastard kidnapped her from a neighboring town almost two years ago. She's catatonic and has been…victimized… by all three of these men over the last two years. She hasn't seen the sun or any person that hasn't hurt her badly in that amount of time. When the other police rescued her she suffered a psychotic break, thinking they were all there to hurt her. I don't know if she'll ever recover. There's just too much damage. I've also found out she's an orphan. They killed her parents when they kidnapped her. She's twenty four but I'm petitioning to adopt her. Someone like this as a ward of the state… I can't let it happen."

"Bastards. They've hurt too many people. I hope it's over."

"Dean, I don't agree with what you're doing with Sam, but I know if anyone can help him heal, it's you. I have no doubt that he'd have died on the table if you hadn't been there. You'll get through to him in a way that no drug or treatment could. I wish you the best."

Dean held out a hand. "Thanks Dave." He said as the doctor clasped it and shook. Dean let go and turned, walking out of the hospital. He moved to the driver's side of the car and got in. He smiled just a bit as he watched Bobby pull his arm away from where it rested across Sam's shoulder, heaving himself out of the back seat of the car. "We'll follow you to your place. That is if you don't mind us stayin'?"

"Boy, if you didn't stay I'd kick your ass!"

"Thanks Bobby." Dean said as he fired the engine. The truck pulled out, Impala following. Sam remained silent and staring in the front seat, his eyes at half mast and his sedated body limp as the Impala rocked and moved up over the last speed bump in the parking lot. Dean turned the stereo on softly, the mellow tones of Boston filtering through the interior. "It's alright Sammy. Mom said I can help you. I swear I will." Dean said as he glanced at his still brother. Dean eased into the accelerator as Bobby led the way out of town and onto the open road towards his house. The engine purred with happiness to be out of twenty miles per hour zones and into the wind. Dean fell silent, his eyes on the road. He was nearly to Bobby's when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Sam's head moved to lean against the corner of the seat, breath fogging the window. His eyes were closed, breathing easy as he slept. "That's my boy. Always could sleep in here better than anywhere else. Get some rest Sammy." Dean pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and dialed a number. He watched through the windshield as Bobby raised his phone to his ear.

"_What's wrong Dean?"_

"Nothin. Wanted to tell you Sammy fell asleep. I'm gonna drive for a couple hours and let him sleep. He needs it."

"_Good. Any idea where you're goin?"_

"Just drivin'. It feels good to be behind my Baby's wheel anyhow. I don't mind it if it gives Sammy some real comfort."

"_I'll go on home and get stuff ready."_

"Thanks for everything Bobby. See ya in a few hours." Dean closed his phone and hit the brakes as Bobby eased off to the exit ramp that would lead to Fort Pierre and his house. Then he pressed the gas again and headed further along the open road. Dean just enjoyed the soft music and the open road for several hours, stopping finally for gas and something to eat at a small rest stop in Chamberlain. He locked the doors, leaving Sam still sleeping peacefully and went inside, all the while never leaving sight of the large window. He paid for his purchases and the gas, glancing at the car yet again.

"Sorry. My brother's in the car. He's sick." Dean said as he waved off the clerk's attempt to flirt with him. Dean smiled briefly before leaving. He got back in the car to see Sam's eyes open. His head still rested in the same position. "Sammy, your neck has to be killing you." Dean said to his brother as he gently reached out and lifted Sam's head from the seat, satisfied when Sam held his head up on his own. Dean fired the engine and pulled out. "What do ya say we go home?" Silence was his answer. He turned back in the direction of Bobby's and eased the big car into the sunset.

Dean pulled into Bobby's nearly an hour later, his still silent brother staring out the windshield with vacant eyes. The only movement that came from Sam was the slow blinking Dean had become accustomed to and the rise and fall of his chest that seemed too shallow for Sam. Dean stopped the car in front of the house and watched as Bobby came onto the porch. He smiled at Dean before stepping up to the passenger side of the car and opening the door. Dean got out and came around. "I'll get him Bobby. We need to find out how he's going to act before you get too close to him."

"Boy, I can handle myself and Sam too. I'm not gonna shy away from the kid jus' cause he's not himself." Dean raised his hands in a placating gesture and let Bobby pull Sam from the car. "Gonna need help gettin' him up the steps though." Sam's steps were jerky and uncoordinated but Bobby managed to get him to the base of the porch. Dean got Sam's left arm and hooked it over his shoulders, Bobby doing the same with his right. The two of them looped their arms around Sam's back and lifted him slightly, sitting him down after they lurched up the steps and onto the porch. Dean took Sam and led him into the house. "Dean, the room is ready off the kitchen. Didn't figure you wanted to take him upstairs. I'll get your bags."

"Thanks man." Dean led Sam into the kitchen and down the short hall to the room they had shared before, when one or the other was too hurt to negotiate the steep staircase to the upper level and their regular room. This one contained only two twin size beds and a shared dresser but Dean knew he wasn't leaving Sam for the comfort of the bigger beds upstairs. Sam stopped dead in Dean's grasp, jerking out of his hand and standing as if frozen. "Sammy?" Dean reached for Sam again and Sam just stared at the empty bed nearest the door. "Sammy, hey. C'mon, let's get you to bed."

"Dean?" Bobby called from the hallway. "Everything okay?"

"Not sure yet Bobby. C'mon Sammy." Dean reached for Sam again and he could see, like in slow motion as something came alive in his brother. Sam moved both hands shooting out and grabbing Dean's shoulder. Dean felt large hands clamp down, with a strength Sam shouldn't have after a combined month and a half in a coma. Dean tried to break the grasp, to find out what was going on and couldn't. Sam spun, pulling Dean with him and letting go, throwing Dean backwards into the doorjamb. The door was knocked off the hinges and crashed into the hallway, breaking into the drywall on the opposite wall as Dean fell on top of it. His right hand slid down the broken hinge, the discolored brass of the old metal biting into his palm and leaving a cut that went from his thumb to his wrist. He groaned as he landed, winded. Bobby, who'd stepped back when the door flew, hurried up to Dean and then moved to stop Sam, who was roaming around the room pointlessly, his eyes still fixed on the empty bed. Sam bumped into the dresser and slid to his knees on the gray carpet. He was rocking back and forth and shaking, eyes still fixed on the bed. Bobby stepped up to him and crouched down, lifting his face and turning it away from the bed as he tried to redirect Sam's eyes.

"Hey kid. It's okay. He's…" Sam's arm lifted and he swept Bobby off balance with a hard shove, sending the older man crashing into the foot of the bed that Sam's gaze remained fixed to.

"Bobby!" Dean cried as he righted himself and rushed back into the room.

"'m alright." Bobby groaned. Dean fell to his knees in front of Sam, who had fallen still. His eyes had shifted to the floor and now had the vacant look in them that was beginning to terrify Dean.

"Sammy…"

"Dean, he did this before. Looked at your bed and freaked after I brought him home the first time. It's 'coz he still thinks you're dead." Bobby said as he stood, rubbing a hand over his cheek as he felt blood soak into his beard. He grimaced and left the room.

Dean took Sam's hand in his left one, his right leaking blood onto his jeans. He pulled Sam's hand to his chest and placed it over his own frantically pounding heart. "You feel that Sammy. I'm here. It's me. My heart's beatin'. It's breakin' Damnit! I can't reach you, and I don't know why!" Dean's eyes welled with tears as Sam flinched away, pulling his hand out of Dean's. Dean snapped. He lifted Sam's head and held it in both hands, not caring when his blood smeared Sam's cheek and neck or when his hand stung. He looked at the red smudge and something clicked. He held tighter with his right hand and leaned down, catching Sam's gaze with his own green one.

"There, you feel that? It's my blood Sammy. The blood we share. It's warm and it's flowing. I am here Sam. No matter what you think or where you are I AM HERE." Dean pulled Sam into his arms, wrapping the left around his back but leaving the bleeding right on his face as he angled Sam's head into his shoulder. They both took on Sam's rocking motion, tears beginning to work their way down Dean's cheeks. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We're not moving until you want to move." Dean continued to rest on his knees, rocking with Sam and muttering nonsense words softly into Sam's ear. After what seemed like hours Sam sagged against him and stopped rocking. The extra weight dislodged Dean's numb legs and he eased back onto his butt on the carpet, pulling Sam with him and into a more comfortable position. Dean's blood dried to Sam's cheek and his hand was stuck.

"Nnnm." Sam moaned barely audibly against Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, choking on a sob, the broken sound causing him to flinch. Dean felt it then, the weak grasp of a hand in his shirt, right over his heart.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, his voice a little stronger. He felt the answering tightness in the fabric of his shirt as it was squeezed again. He felt the leather cord of his amulet pull as his shirt was released. "Yeah Sammy. Here, I'm right here."

"De…" Came the broken whisper.

"Yeah."

"Dean?" The voice was stronger this time, strong enough to complete the word without dying off. Dean gently lifted his bloody hand off Sam's cheek, grimacing at the pain and the mess on his brother's face. Pain was soon forgotten as Sam's head lifted of its own accord and tears filled hazel eyes as they met green ones with a matching shine.

"…really you?"

Dean pulled Sam into his arms again. "Yeah Sammy, it's really me." Dean felt Sam's hand tighten again and he gripped it with his own, fist closing over fist. He gently loosened Sam's hand and worked his fingers into his brother's, feeling the puncture wounds inflicted by the horns of the amulet.

"How Dean?"

"I don't know." Dean said simply. He didn't know, he just knew his mom truly saved him. Sam leaned into Dean's arms and Dean lifted a hand to push back Sam's long hair, leaving the ends resting on his slightly quaking shoulders. He felt the tremors work through Sam and eased back to look at him. He saw tears falling gently down his angular cheeks.

"Hey, what is it?" Dean said, brushing away a tear with his right hand and savoring the sting of salt in his cut palm.

"I'm glad." Sam managed to say before burying his face in Dean's neck again. Dean squeezed his brother tight and brushed the hair away again.

"Me too Sammy. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up so you can rest." Dean pushed himself up, pulling Sam with him. Sam's numb legs threatened to buckle and Dean steeled himself, swearing to never let his brother fall. They walked on numb legs to the bed where he lowered Sam down, and then he went to the bathroom just down the hall, cleaned his hand and wrapped it with gauze before wetting a towel and taking it back to clean his brother's face. He gently wiped the blood away and used a dry corner to wipe off the water and tear tracks. "You tired?"

"Need to move I think. I hurt." Sam said. Dean pulled him to his feet and they headed to the living room, his arm around Sam's shoulders and Sam leaning just slightly into his side.

Bobby looked up at the sound of shuffling footsteps and dropped the book he was reading. It hit with the thump of leather binding against scuffed hardwood. Sam flinched. Bobby was on his feet and gathering the youngest Winchester into his arms. "Damn, boy. It's good to have ya back!" Bobby held Sam tight as Dean watched on and smiled. Bobby looked at Dean and held out a hand, clasping Dean's shoulder. "I have my boys back." Bobby said, his normally gruff voice breaking as tears shone in his eyes.

**A/N: epilogue will be up later this evening.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here's the ending. A little more on Maris and a little more on the fate of the very bad cop. Let me know if you liked this one. It'll get me working on the next one that much sooner.**

**Epilogue**

**Six months later.**

Sam had finished his grand jury testimony in the trial of Thomas Berringer and left the courtroom to meet Dean and Bobby. It wasn't easy but it was just him in front of the jury, a few Internal Affairs officials and an attorney. Memories choked him and he was glad to be away. He had heard the verdict. The last remaining living cop who was responsible for Maris' captivity and rape, nineteen robberies, seven murders all together and one attempted murder was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Sam hadn't had to face the man and that was all that kept him calm. Dean, being one of the murder victims, waited for Sam out of sight with Bobby. Sam met them a half block from the court house and went to a small outdoor café for lunch. Sam sat and talked with his brother and Bobby, the three men looking happy and healthy for the first time in months. Sam's scars were all hidden, with him opting to keep his hair longer, although it was kept neatly trimmed. The extra length had worked the wave out and it fell straight to the tops of his shoulders. He was healed, his strength and muscle tone returning fully, the headaches gone completely.

"Sam? Dean?" The two looked up at the sound of a voice they recognized, Sam turning in his seat to see Doctor David Benton. "It is so good to see you!" He said.

"Hey Doc." Sam said, remembering the kind man from his first stay in the hospital.

"Doc." Bobby and Dean echoed, nodding their heads.

"It's just Dave now. I retired from my active practice. I started a clinic where I use therapy to work with patients with head trauma, trying to get them back to as normal as possible. There is someone I want you to meet though." Dave turned and motioned to a table just a few over. A woman stood from the table and walked over. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a white sweater draped around her shoulders. "Remember Maris, Dean?"

Dean gaped. Gone were the vacant stare and the pale cheeks. Maris' hair had grown longer and was thick and straight. Her eyes were a vibrant blue, dancing as she caught his stare. "Maris was my first success with the treatment I invented. She's also now my adopted daughter."

"Hi, guys." Maris said, smiling at Dean and then Sam. "I've heard a lot about you." She turned to her father. "Do you mind if I talk to them a bit?"

"Go ahead. I'll have our lunch boxed to go." Dave walked off.

"I remember what happened, Dean." Maris said quietly as she sat at the fourth chair at their table. "I remember the bridge, seeing you. Sam, I know you too. Your mother talked to me. She came out of the light and spoke. She knows what you've done Dean, and she left me with a message. She says there's a way out and that Sam will be the one to find it. It's your combined destiny and she says do not fight it. It'll come down to the wire and go beyond but you will not be lost for long." Maris closed her eyes and spoke, like she was trying to remember exactly what was said to repeat it. "She said 'Don't give up on memories. What you live for will be what saves the both of you.' She was a beautiful woman. She loves you both so much."

"Maris, why were you on the bridge?" Dean asked.

Maris looked directly at Sam. "I'm twenty four. My mother died in a nursery fire. I know about you Sam. I can astral project and have the ability to persuade thoughts and functions. I was visited by a man with yellow eyes who said he had plans for me that would make me the next great leader. Then something happened to me and my powers took me to the bridge. I knew I was there for a reason so I just went with it. Then you showed up Dean, right after your mother. I knew then I had to fight my way back. I had to give up one freedom to gain another. Sam, I'm sorry but I made you sleep. The Catatonia? I did the same to myself as an escape I think. Dave's unwavering help and understanding brought me back." She stood. "I have to go. We're going to the theatre this afternoon."

"Unwavering help and understanding brought her back. Just like Dean's did for me." Dean met Sam's eyes and Sam smiled.

"Hey, I couldn't give up on my Bitch."

"I just got tired of listening to you talk. Jerk."

**Thanks for reading.**


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